


Though the World Be A-Waning

by 1note



Series: Love Is Enough [1]
Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1note/pseuds/1note
Summary: She couldn't still be alive. But he had to know. He couldn't keep going until he knew for sure.  Murphy and an OFC inspired by the brief flashback he had in the 2nd season episode White Light. Story takes place in Season 1 from Zunami on. Also posted on ff.net
Relationships: Murphy/Original Female Character
Series: Love Is Enough [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813534
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! This is my first foray into ao3. I'm a latecomer to the Z Nation fandom, I'm sorry to say, and I am totally fixated on Murphy - as many are. ;-)  
> My oc is inspired by the brief flashback Murphy experiences in White Light. So if you'd like some idea of how she looks, just check out that episode.  
> Also, the title is taken from a poem by William Morris.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Z-Nation or its characters.**

_Portsmouth Prison, Massachusetts_

His entire life, Murphy could count on two fingers the people he loved and who loved him.

The first was his mom, Lucinda. It wasn't easy being a single mother to a kid who was always getting sick. Working three part time jobs and barely scraping by. But she always found a way to buy Murphy a birthday present every year. Always made the time to read him stories and tuck him in when he was little. Murphy swore when he grew up he'd get rich enough to take care of her in turn. But it never worked out that way. All his money-making schemes fell apart, then his mom died of ovarian cancer. Grief and regret were forever tied to his memories of her.

The second person was Trina Avery. They met in third grade on one of the days Murphy wasn't sick with something. She was the new kid, he was the freak. They sat together at lunch because nobody else wanted them at their table, and they were best friends ever since.

It really didn't make sense when he thought about their relationship. People like Trina didn't stay friends with losers like Murphy. They either moved on to better people, or Murphy drove them away. But that didn't happen with Trina. She stuck by him all through grade school, middle school, and high school. When she started community college and he was running illegal poker games out of his basement. When she got her teaching license and he was committing his first major cons.

Trina knew all of his bullshit, saw through every lie, and despite all that she still somehow believed there was something worthwhile in him. Maybe that was why she was the only person Murphy never tried to manipulate or take advantage of.

His happiest memory involved Trina. They were in their twenties hanging out at a park one beautiful afternoon when there weren't many other people around. They were sitting on a picnic table talking about nothing important. Then Murphy lit up a joint and, to his surprise, Trina asked if she could try it. He'd offered her a puff numerous times before, but she always declined, good girl that she was. This sudden change of heart startled him, but he didn't question it. They ended up passing the joint back and forth until Trina was giggling at every little thing. Murphy never saw anything more adorable. Or more beautiful. The way the afternoon sun highlighted her dark brown hair, her crinkling eyes, her infectious laughter. Those dimples on her cheeks. Murphy burned it all into his memory, held it close to his heart for many years after. And when Trina impulsively kissed him, Murphy knew right then that he would never love anyone else the way he loved her.

They never talked about that kiss. There wasn't any awkwardness or embarrassment. They just continued on like it never happened. It was for the best. Murphy knew any deeper relationship between them was doomed to fail. Trina deserved better than a selfish prick like him. Still, he treasured the memory of that kiss.

After he was sent to prison for mail fraud, Trina visited him every week. It was worth the mandatory strip searches just to see her beaming smile greet him when he entered the visiting area. Trina's visits were the only thing Murphy had to look forward to, besides the end of his three year sentence. They spent most of their allotted time talking about her life working as a substitute teacher while looking for a permanent position somewhere. Boring stuff, but Trina's enthusiasm kept Murphy riveted. Having her in his life was the only thing that made prison time bearable.

Then one visiting day Murphy noticed how forced her smile was and his usual excitement at seeing her turned to dread. Whatever she had to tell him, he knew it wasn't good.

************

It hurt to see Alvin in this sad, gray place, in that awful orange jumpsuit. Hurt to know all his mistakes and bad decisions led him here. Trina loved Alvin, but she was under no illusion that he hadn't brought this on himself.

Plenty of people told her to cut ties with him. That any relationship with Alvin Murphy would be toxic and he'd only use her in the end. And they weren't wrong, but they weren't entirely right, either. Yes, he was a self-centered, conniving con artist. A habitual liar who tried to manipulate every situation to benefit himself. But the thing that nobody else knew or cared to believe was that Alvin never lied to Trina. Never tried to trick her or involve her in his schemes in any way. The most he ever did was crash on her couch when times were tough, and he always tried to pay her back for the favor.

In spite of all his flaws, Trina loved him, and she knew he loved her. They never said the words, but she saw the truth of it in his eyes every time he looked at her. Saw it in his broad smile as he approached the table where she waited in the visiting area.

Trina felt how forced her own smile was. She hoped Alvin wouldn't notice, but his grin waned as concern clouded his expression.

"Hey." She stood and embraced him. Hugs were permitted, as long as they were brief. No more than five seconds long. She tried to make up for that brevity by squeezing extra hard and felt the comforting strength of his long arms around her like a pair of boa constrictors. They parted reluctantly and sat across from each other.

"So," Alvin kept his tone light, "What's new?"

Trina chewed her lower lip, eyes focused on the table's marred surface. Her first impulse was to put off the unpleasant news until the end of her visit, so she could leave right after and not have to face his reaction. But that wouldn't be fair. So she took a deep breath to gather herself, then forced herself to meet his worried gaze.

"I finally got hired as a full time teacher. Fourth grade, like I wanted."

"Well, that's great!" he exclaimed happily. His smile faltered at her solemn expression. "Isn't it?"

Trina swallowed around the lump that formed in her throat. "The job...it's in Nebraska."

She watched the last vestiges of Alvin's smile vanish as the words sank in. "Nebraska? Seriously? You couldn't find anything closer?"

"Not with the incentives they're offering. They haven't had a permanent fourth grade teacher in over a year." She fidgeted in her uncomfortable seat, forced herself not to look away from his hurt gaze. "I read up on the school. It's a great place, high academic scores. The town's nice, too. Low crime rates, not too big."

"You trying to convince me this is the right move, or yourself?" he asked sardonically.

Trina reached across the table to grasp his hand. "Please don't. This isn't easy for me. I want to stay here for you. But if I do stay, it'll _only_ be for you. You wouldn't put your entire life on hold just for me, and I'd never ask you to."

Alvin looked away, but his hand squeezed hers before he withdrew it. After a moment of silent brooding, he took a breath and returned his gaze to hers. "You're right. I'm not being fair to you. I just...I don't have anyone except you."

"Alvin..."

"I'm not trying to guilt-trip you," he hurried to assure her, "I'm just trying to be honest. Not an easy thing for me, y'know."

The corners of Trina's mouth twitched in a faint smile.

Alvin continued, "I know our friendship's been pretty one-sided. You've always been there for me and I took it for granted that you always would be. I'm way past due for being the selfless one for once in my sorry life." He cleared his throat, eyes blinking rapidly. "You should go. I, uh..." he coughed to hide the slight quaver in his voice, "I want you to go."

Trina wished there was no choice to be made. But there was, and she needed to make the right one for herself. She couldn't base her life decisions around someone else, no matter how much she loved him.

"I'll write to you every day," she promised, "And I'll call whenever I can. And I'll send care packages."

Alvin's eyes lit up. "Snacks?"

She laughed, "Lots of snacks. Speaking of." She got up and went to the vending machine, came back moments later with an armload of junk food. Alvin chuckled as she set the pile of snacks on the table and pushed it all towards him. Their usual visiting hour ritual.

"This is why you're my favorite person," he declared as he tore open a packet of Bugles and began stuffing his face.

Trina smiled affectionately at him. Alvin had always been a skinny guy with a huge appetite, even during the many times he was sick as a kid. Not even middle age seemed to have slowed down his metabolism.

Soon a pile of empty wrappers was all that remained by the time visitation ended. The two of them threw it all in the trash, then faced each other for a wordless moment before Trina pulled Alvin into one last hug.

"I love you," she whispered, so quiet she barely heard herself. She doubted Alvin heard her at all.

(He did.)

They reluctantly parted, forced wan smiles on their faces and ignored how damp their eyes were. Neither of them said goodbye. Trina shouldered her purse and Murphy watched her walk out the exit for the last time.

"I love you, too."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the dialog is taken from or paraphrased from the episode Zunami.

There were no high points in the apocalypse. Just low points, really low points, and rock bottom. Operation Bite Mark was at a really low point. Three days without water, plus their last running vehicle had given up the ghost. The group was trapped in a small Nebraska town as dry as the Sahara. Even the radiators in the many derelict cars were empty. Everybody sprawled on the hot pavement, too weak to stand, let alone continue their fruitless search. Everyone except Murphy, that is. Not only was he still on his feet, he was pacing around, impatient.

"Water isn't gonna find you guys just sitting there," he chastised.

Warren glared up at him. "What's got you so damn chipper?"

Murphy shrugged. "Maybe it's 'cause I conserve my precious bodily fluids like a camel."

Or more likely, it was yet another weird side effect of the vaccine making itself known. Murphy was feeling less human by the day and wondered how much of himself would even be left by the time they finally reached California.

A distant rumble dragged the others out of their stupor for a moment.

"Izzat an earthquake?" 10K mumbled.

Doc frowned as he noticed a huge dust cloud approaching. "More like a zombie-quake."

Everyone struggled to their feet, eyes riveted on the massive herd of the undead stampeding towards them.

Murphy quickly decided the wisest course of action was to hightail it. However, he only made it a few paces before he noticed the others weren't following. He paused, jogging in place. "C'mon, people. Pick it up!"

"We...can't," Warren panted, "Dehydrated."

Murphy grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back to her feet. "Come on!" he shouted as he pulled along the weakly protesting lieutenant. He was relieved to see the others start to plod after them.

The harsh growls of the zombie horde warned of their fast approach. Warren pointed to an old brick building with a sign over the door: DR. PHIBES FAMILY MORTUARY. They rushed into the building just as a human voice called out behind them. Warren turned, saw two men barely running ahead of the first wave of zees. One of them tripped and was instantly swarmed. Warren mercied him with a bullet from her sidearm. The second man made it into the mortuary and the door was slammed shut behind him. Once the door was secured, everybody collapsed in the front office. That last sprint had used up the team's remaining energy. Even the new guy—who introduced himself as Otis—was spent, having run who knew how many miles to avoid a grisly death.

"There must be thousands of them," Cassandra remarked over the din.

"Millions," said Otis, "Migrating south for the winter. Zombies don't like the cold."

Otis was the last survivor of a small community up in North Dakota. Things were peaceful enough with only the occasional zombie bison to worry about. "Then the rumbling started," he finished ominously, "and never stopped."

"Where'd they all come from?" Murphy wondered.

"Refugee camp in Alberta," said Otis, "Over a million people with no food or water. They were dead within a week."

Canadians. That explained the Mountie uniform Murphy glimpsed through the window. He tried to imagine it; a herd miles wide, consuming everything in its path as it continually added to its numbers. The idea was terrifying even to Murphy, who seemed to have nothing to fear from zombies since he started changing.

A loud crunch drew everyone's attention to the door. It was splintering from the force of so many bodies pressing against it.

Warren stood. "We gotta find a more secure room."

The only other place was the morgue in the back. Only one door in or out.

"No way," Otis protested the moment he got a look at the place, "This is a deathtrap."

There was a loud crash as the main door broke and the zees poured into the mortuary. Murphy slammed the morgue door shut, but knew it wouldn't hold for long. "Now what?"

"We wait them out," Warren stated calmly. There was nothing else they could do.

Yet Murphy protested, "We can't just stay here and wait to die." He needed to go. He had somewhere he needed to be, and he wasn't thinking California.

The others had been too distracted by thirst to notice Murphy's reaction when he saw the name of the town they'd arrived at. Of all the one-horse towns in Nebraska, they wound up in the one place he'd been thinking about since before the zompocalypse. This was where Trina had moved to for her teaching job. From the moment they got here, Murphy had been anxious to find the address he memorized from her letters to him. He just wanted to find some clue as to what happened to her. Some hint that she might have survived. Or even if she hadn't. He just needed to know for sure either way.

He didn't bother mentioning this to Warren. He already knew what she'd say: stay on mission. His personal matters didn't mean shit to her. They weren't friends. Murphy was a package to be delivered and nothing more. If he wanted anything else, he'd have to get it for himself.

A sound from one of the drawers used to store bodies alerted the survivors to the fact that at least one of the morgue's residents had turned. Doc and 10K made a botched attempt to mercy it, which meant Warren was forced to use her gun on the zombie. Unfortunately, the noise riled up the zees outside and the door began to shudder in its frame.

Warren got an idea. She opened up another drawer to find it empty. She looked at the other, the implication clear.

Cassandra looked far from comfortable with the idea. "I don't know."

"We don't have much choice," Warren reminded her. The zombies would break through at any moment. There was no other way to escape them.

"No way in hell I'm getting in that thing," Otis hissed, clutching his rifle in his white-knuckled hands. But in the end, Warren gave him no choice but to crawl into one of the claustrophobic drawers, as did everybody else in the group. Soon it was down to just Warren and Murphy. Murphy was safe enough, but Warren wasn't able to find an unoccupied drawer for herself.

It was looking bad for the lieutenant, but then Murphy spotted an empty body bag under the autopsy table. He spread it open on the table and looked at Warren. When all she did was stare, he nodded impatiently to the bag. "Come on."

Like she told Otis, not much choice. Reluctantly, she got on the table and lay flat. As Murphy started to zip her into the bag, she blurted, "Don't you leave us."

Because she knew him too well by now to trust him not to make a run for it.

Murphy shushed her, "Just keep still."

"Murphy," she insisted, "Don't you leave."

When he didn't respond, she reached through the shrinking opening to grab his wrist. "I gotta get you to California," she said with an edge of desperation.

Murphy's smile held a touch of remorse. "You got me as far as you could."

He ignored her whispered pleas and finished zipping the body bag closed, leaving only a tiny gap for Warren to peer through. And not a moment too soon. The morgue's door crashed open and the zombies flooded in. Murphy stood among the milling crowd, unmolested. He met Warren's helpless gaze one last time, then he turned away and walked out of the morgue, leaving his companions behind.

* * *

Trina's letters went into great detail about her new home, describing every landmark and street sign. Even though she never said it, Murphy knew she hoped that he would come see her after he served his prison sentence. And he would have, if the damn world hadn't ended.

Murphy put his knowledge of the town to use now, looking at storefronts and street names, letting them guide him to his destination. At one point he climbed onto a rusting tractor abandoned on the main thoroughfare (the mark of any hick town) and used the added height to see over the teeming crowds and get his bearings. A couple of zombies paused to stare at him.

"What" Murphy snapped at them, "You don't wanna eat me, so what the hell do you want?"

Of course they didn't answer. He would've been shocked if they had.

He scoffed, "Great, I'm the one-eyed king in the land of the blind."

Ignoring his admirers, Murphy scanned the area until he found the right street name and clambered down from the tractor. He pushed his way past the undead throngs to a relatively quiet part of town. Only a few dozens of zees instead of hundreds or thousands clogging the streets. It was a residential area with several apartment buildings and duplexes. Murphy paused in front of an old brownstone, found the building's number. This was it, Trina's home. All he had to do was go inside.

Murphy found himself overcome with dread. His feet refused to move. What if he found something terrible in there? Or worse, what if he found nothing at all? No clue as to what happened, if she was alive or dead? What if...God, what if she was a zombie? Could Murphy bring himself to mercy her?

_You don't know anything for sure,_ he told himself, _And you'll never know if you don't move your sorry ass._

He couldn't not know.

Taking a deep breath, Murphy walked up to the main entrance, dodging around a lone zee in a red jacket. The first thing he thought when he entered the brownstone was that he came to the wrong place after all. The interior looked hollowed out, like a corpse picked down to the bones. Doors missing, inner walls torn down. No furniture anywhere, just occasional piles of debris. This was way beyond mere looting.

Trina couldn't still be here. Yet Murphy's feet still carried him to her apartment; one of the few that still had a door, although it stood wide open. Apartment 5. He cautiously walked in to find the place as stripped down as the rest of the building. Nothing of Trina's remained. Her books, her pictures, that godawful mantle clock she inherited from her grandpa, all gone. Murphy blinked back tears. This hurt almost as much as finding her dead. So much of her personality was reflected in the way she decorated her home.

Someone was living here, though. The windows were covered by patches of old cloth and cardboard. There was a sleeping bag on the floor, a basket of scavenged clothes. And on a makeshift table made from a dismounted door resting on cinder blocks he saw an amazing amount of food. There were bagged snacks, canned meats, granola bars...and a nearly full gallon jug of water.

Murphy was so distracted by this unexpected treasure he didn't notice someone step out from behind the apartment's open door. The click of a gun's hammer being cocked alerted him, too late, that he wasn't alone.

"Don't you move," came a woman's voice. Harsh, but still so familiar. Murphy started to tremble, thinking he finally lost it.

"How did you get past all those zombies?" she demanded. When he didn't respond, she circled around to confront him. That was when Murphy knew he wasn't crazy. It _was_ Trina, but a Trina aged by a hard life in the apocalypse. Leaner, her graying hair hacked short, probably with a knife, eyes flinty. She had a snub nose .38 special trained on his head.

"Answer me."

Murphy croaked, "Trina?"

She blinked, then her face transformed in dawning recognition. "Alvin?"

He slowly reached out a hand to her. Trina stared for a long moment, as if afraid to move. Then she took a breath and cautiously extended her own hand. The instant their fingers touched, Trina gasped and the gun fell from her grip and landed on the floor with a hard thunk. "Oh, god. Alvin!"

Murphy pulled her into a tight embrace as she burst into tears.

"Wh-What happened to you?" she sobbed, touching his haggard face.

Murphy shook his head, too emotional to speak. So they clung to each other and cried three years worth of repressed trauma and newfound relief. While outside, the oblivious horde continued its shambling migration.

* * *

When they were finally all cried out, they sat down together on the sleeping bag and told each other everything they'd been trough since Day One.

Murphy didn't embellish his story with false heroics, not with her. He hold her every ugly truth of what he did and what was done to him. Dr. Merch, the vaccine, being left tied to a table while the zombies tore into him, Operation Bite Mark and the journey to California. He told it all.

For Trina, the last few years were not quite so outlandish. Day One happened while she was at school. She tried to save some of her students, but could only watch helplessly as they were ripped apart by the zombies. She survived Black Summer by doing things she had a hard time forgiving herself for. Did some wandering throughout the State, but always ended up returning here, to her gutted apartment.

"What kept you here?" Murphy asked. Surely there were better, safer places she could've found.

Trina smiled, "What brought you here?"

Murphy's stomach chose that moment to growl. "Apparently, snacks."

"Of course." Laughing, Trina stood and walked over to the jerry-rigged table. She grabbed one of the snack bags, tossed it to him. Murphy was delighted to see it was Bugles. He tore open the bag and started wolfing them down.

"Where the hell did you find all this stuff?" he asked with a full mouth.

Trina brought over the water jug. She resumed her seat next to him and explained, "Before they died, people hid supplies in all kinds of places. I found things in heating vents, couch cushions, the wheel wells of wrecked cars. I found the gun inside a pressure cooker, if you can believe it. Only got three bullets, though."

Murphy took a swig of water to wash the salty snack down. He could feel Trina's worried stare on his sickly, wrinkled skin. She touched his arm. "Are you in any pain?"

He replaced the cap on the jug with more care than necessary. "No. But sometimes...sometimes it feels like I'm slipping away. Like I'm becoming one of them."

Trina's hand slid down his arm until she could link her fingers with his. The fact that she wasn't too repulsed to touch him comforted Murphy as much as the actual physical contact. He looked at her reassuring smile, at those dimples that charmed him the first time he ever met her.

"If the CDC still exists," she wondered, "do you think they can help you?"

"I hope so." It was the only thing that kept him going on this insane road trip.

"Okay. Then I'm coming with you."

"You will?" He didn't even try to hide his delighted smile. He hoped she would, of course, but hadn't worked up the nerve to ask.

Trina chuckled, "Yeah. Nothing's keeping me here now."

Murphy kissed her cheek, an impulsive act that earned him a big smile from her.

"Okay, then let's go." He got up and grabbed a backpack off the floor. A pink leather one with cone-shaped spikes that Trina's students gave her for her birthday. He took the bag over to the table to begin stuffing it with the foodstuffs.

A surprised Trina blurted, "Right now?"

It was a lot quieter outside with most of the horde having moved on, but there were still a lot of stragglers out there.

Murphy zipped the pack closed, slung it over his shoulder. "The zees won't hurt me," he held a hand out to her, "And I won't let them hurt you."

Trina accepted his hand without hesitation, let him pull her to her feet. "Lemme pack a couple of things first."

She chose to bring her sleeping bag and a few clothes rolled inside, the .38, and a small one-handed pickaxe that she hung from her belt. Murphy took her hand in his, picked up the water jug with his other hand, and led his best friend away from the remnants of her old life.

Trina tensed when they stepped outside and came face to face with the zombie in the red jacket. Instead of attacking, however, the creature stared at Murphy with a strange intensity, ignoring Trina altogether.

"Just stay close to me," Murphy whispered, squeezed her hand in reassurance. He carefully walked them past the zee, keeping himself between it and Trina. When they made it down the block unmolested, Murphy heard Trina let out her breath in a relieved whoosh.

They encountered numerous other zunami stragglers on the way to the mortuary. None of them seemed to notice Trina. When they reached their destination, they found all of the zombies were gone except for one. This remaining zee had apparently just discovered Warren's hiding place.

"Hey!" Murphy barked at the snarling creature. Trina watched in dismay as he stared it down. Then, to her amazement, the zombie actually cringed and slunk out the door like a kicked dog.

"Whoa," she breathed.

Murphy unzipped the body bag, revealing a sweaty and relieved Warren.

"You came back," she rasped.

"I did," he smiled, "And I brought a friend." He beckoned Trina closer. "Roberta Warren, meet Trina Avery."

"Hi," a puzzled Warren greeted the newcomer.

"Hi," Trina replied, "Thirsty?" She held up the jug.

Warren's eyes lit up. "Ooh. Thank you."

While the lieutenant took a long drink, Murphy and Trina let the others out of the drawers. Unfortunately, Otis didn't make it. His claustrophobia had gotten the better of him and he barged out of his drawer in a panic, only to get eaten.

Once introductions were made, everyone gathered around the autopsy slab for an impromptu feast of all the scavenged food. It was a rare lighthearted, celebratory end to a long and wretched day.

Murphy basked in the attention his companions showered on him. He was the hero of the hour. Even 10K gushed over Murphy's apparent badassery in dealing with the zees.

"Man, you are unreal!" the kid exclaimed, "Are we gonna go outside and see 'em piled up ten deep on the sidewalk?" He held up a hand for a high five.

Murphy chuckled, "Down low." 10K obligingly slapped his outstretched palm.

"That's the most words I ever heard come outta your sound hole, kid," Doc remarked in amazement.

Cassandra, her mouth full, spoke to Trina, "Where the hell did you find Goldfish crackers? These used to be my favorite."

Trina smiled and shrugged modestly. "Just lucky, I guess."

"She's a Goldfish magnet," Murphy declared. Trina gave him a playful shove.

"Can your psycho food radar find me a ribeye next time with a loaded baked potato?" Doc teased.

She grinned at the older man. "Wow. Alvin said you were a greedy bastard."

"I never said that!" Murphy protested while Doc roared in laughter.

When things quieted a little, Warren cleared her throat and raised her cup of water in a toast. "To Murphy. You may be the mission, but today you also became our friend," she then lifted her cup to Trina, "And to Trina, a new and welcome addition to our team."

"Hear hear!" "Cheers!" Various containers clinked together.

Murphy smiled at all in the room, but when his gaze fell upon an angled mirror high up on the wall, his expression suddenly waned. He quickly looked away from his reflection and began to fidget in his seat.

"So, uh," he flashed an anxious grin, "Can we go? I need to go. I, uh..." He stood and headed for the door. "I need to go..."

The others continued to eat, oblivious to his agitation. Only Tina and Warren noticed. The two women shared a look, then Trina got up and followed Murphy to the front office. She found him at the busted door, staring out. She came up beside him. "What's wrong?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched. He turned to face her. "It's my eyes."

Weird striations ringed the irises, more than halfway obscuring their natural blue. From the sad look on Trina's face, she'd already noticed well before he had.

Murphy's lip trembled. "I don't know what's happening to me."

Trina drew her best friend into a hug. It was the only comfort she could think to give him. From the way he clung to her, it was more than he'd gotten in a very long time.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers about the first half of the episode Going Nuclear.

"Is this entire State uphill?" Murphy groused, pretty much summing up everyone's feelings at the moment. The truck had run out of gas some twenty miles back, and without a replacement vehicle to be found, the group was forced to continue on foot. It was Warren's idea to cut through the woods rather than stick to the road in order to avoid any zees, which tended to drift towards the path of least resistance. And this terrain certainly offered a lot of resistance. Murphy glared at yet another mini-mountain ahead of them. "Where are we, anyway?"

Warren consulted the map in her hands. "The Black Hills of South Dakota."

"First time in three years I've been anywhere outside of Nebraska," Trina mused tiredly.

"You obviously weren't missing much," Murphy grumbled. He grabbed her arm when she stumbled, then pulled her to his side so she could lean on him. These little thoughtful displays astonished the team at first, having never seen Murphy think of anyone but himself up to this point. It was one of the numerous small ways Trina's presence influenced him. He was still pain-in-the-ass Murphy, but a slightly more cooperative, less asshole-ish Murphy. A fact for which Warren was grateful, since it made her life a bit less of a hassle.

"Chief," Doc huffed a few minutes later, "We gonna make camp soon? My dogs is gettin' tired."

"There's supposed to be a town nearby called Edgemont," she nodded vaguely ahead of them, "Lemme take a compass read at the next ridge up ahead."

"Can we please take a break first?" Cassandra begged, which was very telling, since she tended to suffer in silence.

The lieutenant sighed, more from her own exhaustion than impatience. "A quick one."

They paused in a clearing where they discovered a perfect view of a certain famous landmark.

"Oh, my god," Cassandra groaned.

Trina laughed in surprise. There in all its vandalized glory stood Mount Rushmore. Someone had managed to get up there and used a lot of red paint to make it seem as if the Presidents had all turned zee. Fake gore dripped from their mouths and down their chins. The artist even signed their work with the familiar Z inside a circle with a diagonal slash. She'd seen that symbol in numerous tagged places and wondered if they were all done by the same person. If so, they really got around.

"Who in the hell did that?" Warren glared at the ruined monument. "If I ever find out who they are, they're gonna get a whoopin'."

10K grinned. "I think it's awesome."

Doc gave the kid an admonishing shove.

Murphy rubbed a hand over the lengthening bristles on his scalp, a habit he developed after shaving his head. "This is why we can't have nice things."

"C'mon," Warren abruptly resumed marching, "Break's over."

There were some grumbles, but everyone reluctantly followed. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Murphy's thin hold on his patience finally snapped. "We've been walking for hours! Admit it, Columbus, you're lost."

Doc immediately rose to their leader's defense, "Give it a rest, Murphy. Warren knows where she's going."

"I'm not so sure about that," Trina remarked, noting the lieutenant's uncertainty as she examined the map yet again.

Warren sighed and admitted, "Well, we should've reached the town by now." She directed a narrow-eyed glare at Murphy. "And for the record, Columbus was lost when he discovered America."

"Yeah, and look how that turned out," he retorted.

Trina noticed something and shifted to get a better look around a stand of trees. A few hundred yards ahead there was a clearing with what looked like some kind of industrial buildings. "Check that out," she pointed, "Maybe there's something we can use over there."

Warren considered the idea. It was better than nothing, and they could all definitely use a place to rest. "Let's take a look."

There was no immediate sign of zombies when they approached. A promising start. With any luck, they might at least have a safe place to shelter for the night. The group walked up to one of the closer buildings and Doc tried the door.

"Why do they still lock doors?" he lamented, then pulled a tire iron from his belt. The lock gave easily with just a little prying.

Warren entered first, gun drawn. She gave her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim interior before she gestured to the others to follow. The rest of the team stepped through the door with equal caution, weapons ready, while Murphy brought up the rear. Light filtered through the windows located high up the walls near the ceiling. The place was a maze of industrial pipes and unknown machinery. The chances of finding any supplies were slim at best.

Murphy spotted something, a plastic jug of water left on top of one of the boxy machines. He rushed over to pick it up. It left behind a clean circle in the thick layer of dust.

Trina frowned in concern as he unscrewed the cap. "You sure you wanna drink that?"

"Yeah," Doc added, "This ain't the Piggly Wiggly. That could be some kinda industrial-type water that'll rot your insides."

"Ah, spare me the details!" Murphy scoffed. He was too damned thirsty to care at this point. An experimental swig didn't reveal any strange aftertaste, so he shrugged and took a deeper drink.

Cassandra hissed a sudden warning, "Over there."

Everyone looked where she pointed, saw erratic movement through the tangled pipes. That and the low growls indicated at least one zombie was in the building with them. The team took cover behind an interior wall. As the sounds of the zee got closer, they readied their weapons. Warren signaled for quiet. A second later, the cautious silence was pierced by a flatulent blat. All eyes glared at the culprit.

"It got away from me," Murphy whispered defensively.

Trina had to bite her lip to hold back a snicker when Doc angrily hissed, "If I die because you farted, I am taking you with me."

The zombie rounded the corner and was swiftly mercied by a quick stab from Doc's tire iron. The aging hippie gawked down at the corpse. It was glowing green like a light stick. "What in the livin' hell?"

Trina didn't like the way the air around the dead zee shimmered as if there was heat coming off it. "Maybe we shouldn't stand so close to it."

More growls and shuffling steps had Warren declaring, "He's got friends!"

A half dozen more glowing zees staggered towards them. Warren shot the closest one with her last bullet, then quickly drew her machete. But before she or the others could engage the zombies, a pair of living humans clad in yellow hazard suits of some kind burst through the door.

"Don't touch them!" the taller of the pair shouted, his voice muffled by his face shield. He and his companion, a woman, fired their hand guns at the zombies.

One of the zees got too close to 10K and he used his rifle to pin it against the wall.

"Back away! It's not safe!" The yellow-suited woman rushed over and shot the zombie. It turned out to be the last one.

The man quickly admonished Warren when she tried to prod one of the bodies with her machete, " _Don't_ touch them. They're radioactive."

Everyone immediately backpedaled from the corpses.

_"Radioactive?"_ Warren stared in disbelief. "How?"

The man lifted his face shield, revealing a haggard, bearded face framed with stringy graying hair. "I'll show you."

He and his companion led them outside and up a short rise. Looming above the trees before them stood the distinctive round shapes of a pair of nuclear reactor cooling towers. There was an awful lot of steam coming out of the closer one and if they listened carefully, they could just make out the sound of an emergency siren.

"Well, shit," Murphy groaned.

* * *

The man was Wilbur Grady, a former engineer at the nuclear power plant. The young woman his daughter, Amelia. The two of them were pretty much the only remaining residents of Edgemont, which turned out to be not far off from where Warren's navigation had led them.

The town was in surprisingly good condition, with minimal signs of destruction or looting. Most of its residents had skipped out when the reactor began acting up. Grady and Amelia stayed to try and shut it down, but all their efforts resulted in was a lethal dose of radiation for Grady. He was in bad shape and would not last much longer, despite his protests to reassure Amelia.

At the private airplane hangar they called home, Grady ran a Geiger counter over each member of the group while his daughter handed out iodine pills. (Doc didn't try to hide his disappointment that the pills weren't something stronger.) To everyone's relief, Grady declared that they were within safe levels.

"Shouldn't we be wearing suits, too?" Murphy asked.

"Radiation levels aren't too bad out here," Grady told him, then added with a wry chuckle, "Probably get cancer in about twenty years, though."

Not everyone's biggest worry, given the state of things.

"Right now, our main worry's the reactor core. It's melting down," Grady said, "If we don't fix it soon, everything in a three hundred mile radius will be glowing like the zees."

"So, leaving would be a good idea," Doc guessed.

Murphy grabbed the pink spiky backpack and put it on. "What're we waiting for? We got places to be."

"Good luck with that," Grady drawled, "Every vehicle in town's gone or not running. And you won't make it on foot. The core is going to start melting down in less than forty-eight hours. You'd never make it out of the blast zone before then."

"Why are you still here?" a mystified Cassandra asked.

"Because there's still a chance we can shut down the core and save a big chunk of God's country from being irradiated for the next ten thousand years. Besides," he coughed, "I'm already a goner."

Amelia turned away, clearly upset by her father's words.

Trina examined the light plane taking up much of the hanger space. "That your plane?"

Amelia composed herself, nodded. "I'm a pilot. If the worst happens, I can fly us out of the hot zone."

Murphy eagerly latched onto that fact. "Well, that's perfect! We can hitch a ride from you."

"There's only room for one passenger," Grady pointed out. "And I got enough bullets for all of you," he held up his gun for emphasis, "So don't get any ideas."

With each hopeless bit of news, Murphy felt the growing panic shrivel his insides. His instincts screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to run to. He looked at Trina in despair. She was putting on a brave face, but he knew she was just as scared. He reached over to grip her hand, felt her fingers squeeze his. God damn it, why did the universe have to screw them over just when they found each other again?

Warren spoke up, "Mr. Grady—Wilbur—I know he doesn't look like it, but this man," she nodded towards Murphy, "is the only known survivor of a zombie bite."

Grady looked at the man in question and snorted. "Thought there was something wrong with the guy."

Before Murphy could voice his outrage at the remark, Warren continued, "He's the key to a vaccine for the zombie virus. The last best hope for humanity."

The incredulous laughter that followed her statement hinted that father and daughter were less than convinced.

"Yeah, and I'm the Easter Bunny," Grady scoffed.

Warren nodded to Murphy. "Show him."

Reluctantly, he released Trina's hand to undo the top buttons of his shirt and pull it open enough to reveal a bite scar on his chest. The two skeptics gaped; there was no mistaking it for anything other than a zombie bite.

Doc underscored Warren's earlier words, "He's the real deal, man. A lotta people got killed getting him this far."

"So tell us what we need to do to help you shut down that reactor," Warren said, "so we can continue our mission."

Murphy couldn't resist adding, "Unless you have eggs to lay, Mr. Bunny."

* * *

Grady hashed out a fairly simple plan. Basically, he needed help getting past the gauntlet of irradiated zombies that stood between him and the reactor's control room. Radiation levels outside the containment building were low enough that the team should be okay for about two minutes, long enough to get Grady to the door and then retreat back outside. Grady's escort would consist of Warren, Doc, Cassandra, and Trina. 10K would cover them from the fence. That left Amelia outside, ostensibly to guard Murphy, though really it was because her father insisted she stay as much out of danger as possible.

After an uneasy night's rest, the group readied themselves and headed for the nuclear plant.

"Don't let the zees get too close," Grady warned as they approached the chain link fence that surrounded the power station, "One hug and you'll be dead in a few hours."

Doc mercied a zombie through the fence with his tire iron. "Don't hug the zombies. Got it."

Trina felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Murphy's worried expression. "Please be careful," he murmured.

She mustered a smile for him. "I will."

The childhood friends hugged while Doc and Warren unlocked the gate. Grady embraced his daughter as well. 10K sniped an approaching zombie that was clad in a radiation suit. "Two thousand, three hundred and four."

"Two minutes, no more," Grady reminded them, then pushed the gate open with a shouted, "Go!"

They hurried through the gate at a run, Grady in the center, protected by the others who took out any attacking zees. Warren and Doc led with machete and tire iron, while Trina and Cassandra covered the rear with pickaxe and a salvaged garden hoe that made an excellent staff weapon. Halfway across the courtyard Grady was already foundering. It seemed he might collapse before they ever reached the control room, he was fading so fast. But he somehow pushed on.

Once inside the building, Grady had to shout over the blaring emergency siren. "One more minute!"

They encountered more of the glow zombies. Doc took one out as it came down the stairs they needed to take to reach the elevator. As it tumbled over the rails, he yelled after it, "No hugging!"

The team reached the second level. Cassandra had to support Grady over to the elevator.

"Time for all of you to go," he panted, hitting the call button.

A glow zee rounded a corner and attacked. Cassandra used the hoe to knock it over the railing to crash headfirst on the floor below. Then the elevator opened and a zee in a lab coat barreled out. It had Grady pinned to the wall for a second before Trina piked it with her pickaxe. Grady pushed the body aside, staggered into the elevator. "Get outta here. You're out of time. Go!"

The elevator door was sliding shut as the others quickly retreated. Outside, Murphy saw them coming and opened the gate. He even ran a few steps in to catch Trina in a relieved hug. Meanwhile, Amelia was talking to her dad on a handheld radio. He was almost at the control room.

All they could do now was wait.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Going Nuclear.

An eternity of minutes later, Grady staggered out of the building. Amelia rushed through the gate to catch him as he finally collapsed. She gently lowered him to the ground.

"Dad, are you okay?" She pushed up his face shield. "Look at me. Dad?"

The others gathered around them to witness as Grady reached up to touch his daughter's cheek. "I didn't make it," he rasped. Then his arm dropped and his eyes rolled shut.

"No, Dad! Hang on," Amelia sobbed frantically, "Daddy...no, no!"

Tension grew among the others, hands rested on weapons. When Grady suddenly turned and tried to attack his daughter, Doc grabbed Amelia to pull her away while Warren stabbed the newly risen zee in the back of the head with her Bowie knife.

Amelia wailed in Doc's arms. Knowing this was always her father's fate did not make the loss hurt any less. And the fact that his last heroic act had failed only made his death all the more tragic.

"I'm sorry," Warren commiserated. She and the rest of the team worked to dig a grave and buried Grady a short distance from the power station.

There was still the reactor to deal with. If Grady was right, they had less than two days to figure out how to avert the meltdown. Unfortunately, without an expert, their chances were slim to not a snowball's chance in hell. As Doc put it, "I'm a doctor, dammit! Not a nuclear physicist."

"Can you shut down the core, if we protect you?" Warren asked Amelia.

The blonde woman let out a weary laugh. "I'm a pilot. I don't know anything about nuclear reactors."

"There's no hope, then?" Trina heard herself ask in a small voice. After all she survived, reuniting with her closest friend, joining the mission to save humanity, it was all going to end like this?

Amelia sighed, "There is one guy. Homer Stubbins." She didn't sound all that confident. "He used to be my dad's boss. He's been holed up in the woods since the apocalypse. Became a total recluse after his son died. He's armed and he's dangerous."

"Can you take us to him?" asked Warren.

"He won't talk to you."

Warren wasn't giving up so easily. Besides, they didn't have any other options. "We have to try."

* * *

Homer lived in a cabin a few miles from town. Amelia had an electric cart back at the hangar big enough to carry everyone, a valuable time saver. They only had to walk the last half mile or so when the terrain got a bit too rough.

The cabin was fenced off about fifty yards out from the property. Amelia warned that the area beyond the fence was booby-trapped with landmines and tripwires. Being the resident expert in such tactics, 10K checked it out.

"Looks like the setup's to keep zees out, not humans. We should be able to get through, long as we keep a sharp eye out for the traps."

Warren decided that she, 10K, and Amelia would go around back while the others, led by Doc, approached from the front. Fortunately, the mines were pretty easy to spot, since Homer never bothered to conceal them.

Doc's group picked their way through the hazardous front yard until they reached the cabin, then crept along its outer wall towards the rear entrance. As Doc rounded the corner, a kick to his chest sent him sprawling. Cassandra and Trina rushed to his side to make sure he was okay, while Murphy stayed relatively sheltered against the building.

"Don't move." A stocky man in his late 50's aimed an assault rifle at them. "You've got three seconds to tell me what you're doing here. One...two..."

That was the moment 10K came up behind him and put a knife to the man's throat. Warren and Amelia showed up as well, guns drawn.

Homer lowered his weapon. "Go ahead, do me a solid. Just don't leave me a zee."

"We're not here to hurt you, Mr. Stubbins," 10K respectfully answered, "We need your help."

Doc sat up with a groan, "Hello to you, too."

They all went inside the cabin and Amelia told Homer about the status of the reactor and her father's death. Homer gave the young woman his condolences; he'd liked and respected Grady.

As reclusive and grief-stricken as he was, Homer didn't need that much convincing to help them. He might not have cared about his own life, but the prospect of dooming everyone within 300 miles to death by radiation poisoning did not sit well with him. Also, he and 10K took an immediate liking to each other. The kid reminded Homer of the son he lost, as he in turn reminded 10K of his father.

Homer's first act was to hand out weapons and ammo from his sizable personal cache. "Not as if I'm gonna need all this," he reasoned.

While the others loaded up, Murphy did a bit of snooping in the pantry area. There were plenty of dry goods, MRE's, bags of rice, dried soups, and the like. He pulled aside a throw blanket and discovered underneath it was a stack of cases containing some pricey vodka.

"Hello, nurse," he grinned, helping himself to a bottle. He couldn't even remember the last time he tasted any kind of booze. "Vitamin V," he murmured as he unscrewed the cap, "Elixir of the zombie apocalypse."

Murphy only got a few swallows before Warren yanked the bottle away. She set it on the kitchen counter, her stern look a dire warning to leave it there. Murphy sulked, but didn't push his luck.

There was an old satphone among Homer's gear. Warren took charge of it, hoping to use it to contact Citizen Z. She tried it off and on while they all rode the electric cart out to the power plant. So far, she was unsuccessful, but she wasn't about to give up.

Homer paused at the fence. "Alright, from here on the area's hot. We've got two rad suits. One for me and..." he looked over at 10K, "one for my backup."

Warren stepped in before 10K could accept the silent offer, "I'll go."

But Doc wasn't having it. "You can't go! Who's gonna get Murphy all the way to California if something goes wrong? Don't look at me."

He was right, Warren knew that. As much as she wanted to protect the kid, she couldn't take all the risks. She had to focus on the mission. Reluctantly, she nodded her assent to 10K. "Just remember, you don't have an infinite supply of ammo," she warned him.

10K nodded, then he and Homer suited up and went in. They kept the team informed over the radio as they made their way to the control room. There Homer discovered the cause of the impending meltdown. One of the cooling pools suffered a malfunction. Two of the fuel rods were somehow blocked from lowering into the pool to stop the reaction. Homer found a remote controlled robot in the control room that could go in and remove the blockage with a powerful built-in laser, so that he and 10K wouldn't have to risk themselves by going in personally. Unfortunately, little Robbie encountered a major zee problem along the way. It didn't take long before it was out of commission.

So much for Plan B.

"So what now?" Murphy exclaimed once both men returned, "Plan C? Gimme a D, E, F—"

"Hey," Warren silenced him with a stern glare, "Not helping."

Homer sat down in the cart and took a drink from his canteen. He looked tired, but not defeated. "I can still go in and stop the reactor manually," he informed them.

10K argued, "That place is full of zees."

"Take us along this time," Doc offered, "Maybe goin' in heavier will help."

Homer swallowed another mouthful of water. "We've probably only got one more shot at this. But we'll need heavier suits," he sighed wearily, "There's two in the lab. That means two more can go in the lighter suits while me and the kid go in the heavies."

Trina could tell that Murphy was about to interject with a question and quickly spoke up in a less confrontational manner, "What happens if Plan C doesn't work?"

Warren looked to Amelia, "Can you fly Murphy out of the blast zone?"

"Wait—What? No!" Murphy blurted, shocking everyone, "I'm not going anywhere without Trina."

"Alvin," Trina calmly argued, "This is just a precaution."

"I don't care. I'm not going."

"This isn't just about you, Murphy," Warren stated flatly, "Your life is too important to the rest of humanity."

Murphy was about to tell her where the rest of humanity could go when Amelia interrupted.

"It doesn't matter anyway," the blonde woman shifted guiltily, "I don't have enough fuel. I lied to my dad so he wouldn't make me leave sooner."

"See? It's settled." Murphy crossed his arms stubbornly. "I'm staying."

Warren, however, had a possible solution to the fuel problem. "A buddy and I once converted a Dodge Dart to run on alcohol. A light plane engine isn't that different."

"You're welcome to my vodka supply," Homer was gracious enough to offer.

Trina gripped Murphy's arm, her silent look pleading with him not to argue. He gritted his teeth, but kept quiet for the time being.

So the new plan involved Doc and Cassandra going in with Homer and 10K, while Warren, Amelia, Trina, and Murphy took the cart back to the cabin to collect the vodka and then rode out to the hangar where Amelia's plane awaited.

As they rolled up to the hangar, Doc's voice came over the radio to update them. _"Warren, please be advised we've entered the tunnel to the reactor core. Over and out,"_ he cheerily ended the call.

The women got out of the cart and set to work. Amelia retrieved a toolbox while Warren examined the plane's engine. Trina unloaded the cases of vodka and chose to ignore for the moment that Murphy had nicked another bottle for himself.

"So, Amelia, my dear," a slightly inebriated Murphy inquired, "Where are we heading in this fine piece of aeronautical hardware?"

The pilot answered, "Sheridan, Wyoming. It's northwest, away from where the fallout will go. Plus my dad and I heard there might be some people there."

Murphy was less than enthused. He slumped back in his cart seat and took a long swig from the bottle.

An exasperated Warren scolded, "Murphy, would you quit drinking your fuel and fill up the damn tank?"

He shrugged, defensive, "I don't know where the tank is!"

"Well, it's not in your mouth."

Trina snorted in amusement. When Murphy continued to drink, she walked over and took the bottle from him, her expression fondly reprimanding. "C'mon. Help me fill the tank."

Warren glanced up from her work, surprised to see Murphy get up and follow his friend without any further griping. She wished she knew how the other woman did it.

It turned out the plane had two fuel tanks, both located atop the wings near the base. Trina climbed up a stepladder Amelia brought her and proceeded to pour the vodka into the closer tank. When the bottle was empty, she passed it down to Murphy, who handed her a fresh bottle. If he occasionally took a sip first, Trina didn't acknowledge it.

"You're awfully quiet," she remarked at one point, about seven gallons in.

Murphy traded her another bottle. "I was thinking."

"About?" she prompted.

He sighed, "Maybe it would've been better for you if I never showed up at your apartment. You'd still be safe in Nebraska."

Some liquid overflowed from the tank. Trina screwed the cap back on and hopped down from the stepladder. "This one's topped up."

The two of them maneuvered the ladder to the other side of the plane. As Trina climbed up and reached for the second tank's cap, she continued their conversation, "First of all, I wasn't any safer in Nebraska than anywhere else in the apocalypse."

Murphy snorted, "Pretty sure that getting nuked _is_ more dangerous."

"And second," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "I'm glad you found me. I don't regret coming with you, even though we wound up here." She smiled down at him. "I'm happier now than I was for the last three years."

"But..." he swallowed around a painful lump, "You're gonna die here."

Trina paused to bend down and look him in the eye. "You don't know that," she said firmly, "I still think Homer and 10K have a chance at stopping the meltdown. And when they're done, we'll come find you in Sheridan. It should only take a few days."

Murphy didn't share her faith in the old recluse and the kid, but he kept handing over more bottles of vodka anyway.

Twenty-odd gallons were sacrificed by the time Warren and Amelia finished the modifications on the plane's engine. The four of them then pushed the small plane out of the hangar onto the cleared field that served as the runway.

As Warren and Amelia went over some final details, Trina and Murphy said their farewells.

"Too bad you don't have a camera," Trina grinned, "You're gonna have to tell me what the view is like up there."

Murphy knew her optimism was for his sake, but it had the opposite effect from what she intended. He was positive right then that the reactor would blow and he'd lose his best friend forever. The panic he held at bay with snark and booze suddenly rose up to overwhelm him.

"Come with us," he blurted.

Trina's smile waned. "Alvin..."

"We can make room," he tried to rationalize, "Strip out the cockpit or something. I dunno. You're not that big. You can squeeze in—"

"We can't do that," Amelia interrupted, startling him out of his frantic babbling. She and Warren had walked around from the other side of the plane when they overheard Murphy's arguments.

The pilot continued, "The more weight we add, the more fuel we burn. I'm not even sure how far the alcohol will get the two of us."

Murphy's expression started to crumple.

"Hey." A gentle hand on his cheek turned Murphy's attention back to Trina. She reached up with her other hand to cradle both sides of his face. His grayish skin was dry and papery. "I need you to get on that plane, okay? I'll be alright, I promise. But you need to go."

He shook his head, looked like he was about to cry.

"Please?" She drew his head down until their brows touched. "For me?"

Tears beaded Murphy's eyelashes as he squeezed his eyes shut. Finally, he nodded, unable to trust his voice.

Trina smiled at him. "Thank you."

His arms went around her in a fierce hug, which she was quick to return. After a precious moment, Murphy somehow made himself release her and went to the plane where Amelia already waited. He climbed into the passenger seat.

A somber Warren approached to give him her parting words, "Be grateful for all the sacrifices everyone has made."

He nodded, raised a finger to point at her in acknowledgment. Warren smiled faintly and returned the gesture. "Back at you."

Trina and Warren back away from the plane as its reconfigured engine sputtered to life. The two women watched as the small vehicle built up speed as it rolled across the field, until it finally rose in a wobbly liftoff.

Watching the light plane shrink into the distance, Trina's brave facade finally slipped. She half-stumbled over to the cart and dropped herself into the front seat. Hunched over, she buried her face in her hands, muffling her quiet sobs.

Warren seated herself behind the cart's steering wheel and switched on the motor. Without looking at the crying woman beside her, she said, "Thank you."

Trina straightened, wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I didn't talk him onto that plane because of your mission," she sniffled

"I know." Warren did look at her then. She reached over to place a hand on Trina's knee and gave it a squeeze. Trina sniffed again, then nodded. Without another word, the lieutenant drove them back towards the power plant.

* * *

Doc's voice came over the radio with an update just as they reached the plant's employee parking area. _"Warren, please be advised that we are now approaching the reactor core."_

Warren spoke into the handheld, "Anything we can do to help?"

_"Oh, just the usual prayer,"_ was the older man's casual response. _"How's things at your end? Has the mouthy package taken off?"_

"Yeah, he's gone. You all be careful in there. Keep us posted."

_"Will do. Over and out!"_

Warren brought the cart to a halt near a cluster of abandoned cars. "C'mon," she beckoned the other woman, "Let's see which of these fine vehicles is gonna be our ride out of here."

Unfortunately, Grady was right about the lack of transportation. None of the vehicles they checked were fixable.

"Guess we're hoofin' it after all," Warren sighed.

"Maybe not." Trina lifted something about the size of Doc's bag out from under a discarded camper shell. "Battery charger."

Warren nodded in approval. "That's good. We can use it to keep the cart going till we find something better."

Trina placed the charger in the back of the cart next to the two leftover cases of vodka. That done, she and Warren rode the cart back to the main gate to find the others already waiting. Trina noticed how upset 10K looked, as well as the absence of Homer. She also noticed the siren had stopped its wailing, replaced by a recorded announcement: _"Radiation levels falling."_

"It worked? We're safe?"

"From the meltdown," Cassandra confirmed. "Nothing else, though," she added gloomily.

Doc sauntered over, nodded to the vodka cases. "Reminds me of my ex-wife comin' back from Costco."

Warren cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Who'd marry you?"

"Lots of women," he declared in feigned umbrage, "None with any staying power."

The lieutenant chuckled.

Trina got out of the cart and approached 10K. "Homer didn't make it." It wasn't a question.

10K shook his head, eyes downcast.

She touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I just...wish I could've saved him."

"He saved us," she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, "I know that doesn't make it hurt any less, but at least we can be grateful for what he gave us."

The kid sniffed, wiped his nose on his arm. The action made him look so young it melted Trina's heart.

Warren, meanwhile, had been explaining the plan to continue using the electric cart for the time being.

"So we can get back on the road, but where to?" Doc inquired.

"Sheridan, Wyoming," Warren replied, "It's where Amelia said she'd take Murphy."

Doc looked skeptical. "Think he'll bother waiting for us?"

His question proved moot as a second later an exhausted Murphy trudged up the rise into view. "Great news!" he huffed, "The vodka made perfect fuel...for ten minutes!"

A choked sound escaped Trina's throat as she dashed towards her returned friend and flung her arms around him. Murphy hugged her back just as tightly, even as he slumped a little against her. "Fuck, I'm tired."

Trina let out a watery laugh. "What happened?"

"Crashed about a hundred miles away." He ended the hug, but kept an arm around her shoulders while he half-staggered to the cart.

"Wow," Doc responded to this claim in mock amazement, "You covered a lot of ground. Didya hitchhike?"

"Ten miles, whatever!" Murphy snapped, "Felt like a hundred." He flopped down in one of the cart's seats, grabbing a bottle from the open vodka case.

"So, where's Amelia?" Warren asked.

Murphy waved towards the lone figure shuffling up the trail. The short blonde hair revealed it was Amelia—or formerly Amelia.

Trina looked aghast at him. "Why didn't you mercy her?"

He didn't meet her gaze. "Didn't feel right somehow," he muttered.

"So you just let her follow you?" Warren stared in dismay.

"That felt right...somehow." Murphy clearly couldn't make any sense of it even to himself.

With a sigh, Warren drew her machete and started towards the zee. Murphy immediately jumped out of his seat and hurried to interpose himself between her and the dead Amelia. "Don't! She's not hurting us."

Warren frowned in confusion. "Then what do you want us to do?"

"I dunno. Maybe..." he slowly lowered his arms, "Maybe it's time for a different kind of mercy."

Maybe it was everything that happened recently, all the death and near-death they'd experienced. For whatever reason, nobody argued the point. Instead, they all climbed aboard the electric cart and left the wandering zee behind.

Trina leaned her head on Murphy's shoulder as he took a drink from the bottle. "Still think I should've squeezed onto the plane with you?"

He choked.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet, and so far one of my favorites. This chapter covers much of the episode "Sisters of Mercy" Obviously, Murphy will not be hooking up with Pie Girl in this story, but she'll still make an appearance.
> 
> Warning: Some mild adult shenanigans at the end of this chapter. Nothing graphic, though.

The supplies taken from the late Homer Stubbins' cabin did not last as long as they hoped. Luckily, Warren finally made contact with Citizen Z over the satphone and he directed them to a place where he claimed they could stock up on food and water. There was also another survivor there by the name of Chester, who Citizen Z had been in contact with. And as a bonus, the NSA agent told them he'd gotten in touch with Mack and Addy, and the couple were on their way to rendezvous with the group at the same location. It seemed that Trina would have the chance to meet the last two members of the team after all.

There was an unfortunate mishap along the way. Cassandra had siphoned some gas from a wrecked minivan they found in a ditch. There was some other debris down there, including a tangle of barbwire from a collapsed section of fence. As Cassandra made her way back up the steep incline with the nearly full gas can, she lost her footing and slipped, cutting her leg on the barbwire. Doc bandaged it as best he could, but the cut was deep and there were no antibiotics or antiseptics to treat it. By the time the group reached their destination, Cassandra's wound was inflamed and she needed help to walk. After everything they survived, the fact that one of them might be lost to something as anticlimactic as a random accident seemed especially cruel. Hopefully, the place Citizen Z sent them to would also have some medical supplies.

On the outside, the building looked like a nondescript manufacturing plant in the middle of nowhere. On the inside, it was a dismal, windowless bunker that contained far too many exposed industrial pipes that dripped what everyone hoped was water. There were also numerous bare rooms, each furnished with a table and a metal stool which was bolted to the floor. They ran into the occasional zombie wandering the maze of halls. Some wore what looked like orange prison jumpsuits, which did not bring back pleasant memories for Murphy.

"What is this place?" an uneasy Trina murmured.

Warren shrugged. "Some kinda interrogation center, maybe."

"What, like waterboarding?" Trina was appalled, "I thought places like this were illegal on American soil."

Murphy let out a cynical snort, "Like that ever stopped 'em."

The sound of feet ascending the stairs to their level had everyone raising their weapons. Two figures, armed and carrying flashlights, rose into view.

"Hold it right there," Warren cautioned the newcomers.

Murphy squinted in the glare of a flashlight beam to the face, yet he still managed to recognize who the pair were. "It's the damn Wonder Twins."

There were relieved smiles and hugs all around as the team welcomed back their friends. Even Murphy smiled at the reunion, though he kept apart from all the open affection.

Trina introduced herself to the couple. They seemed friendly enough, but something brittle in Addy's eyes troubled her.

"Alright," Warren steered everyone back to the business at hand, "Let's go find this Chester guy and see what he's got for us."

"Hopefully some antibiotics," Cassandra mumbled. She leaned heavily against 10K as they made their way down another eerie corridor.

Warren found the door to what Citizen Z had told her was an old break room where Chester made his home. She knocked before entering. "Hello?"

Their flashlights revealed a figure slumped in an office chair with his back to them. They circled around to see that it was an old man with a thick white beard. He might've been asleep, if not for the trickle of blood that came from a small bullet hole at his temple. The weapon that made the hole lay on the floor where it dropped from the old man's slack fingers.

"I guess we found Chester," Addy remarked drily. She sauntered closer to the body. "Hello, Chester."

Without warning, she raised her Z-whacker and began smashing it into the dead man's skull again and again until blood and bone fragments flew. When she finally stopped, Addy turned to face the others' alarmed stares.

"Somebody got up on the wrong side of the apocalypse," Murphy declared.

"Is she always like that?" Trina whispered, though she was pretty sure he would've mentioned if one of his traveling companions was this unstable. Murphy shook his head and mouthed the word _NO_.

Trina wasn't the only one concerned by Addy's sudden outburst. Something clearly happened that was beyond the redhead's ability to cope. But before anything more could be said about it, Citizen Z's voice was heard from the next room. _"Chester? Is my team there yet?"_

The group entered what looked to be another interrogation cell with a screen up on the wall that gave them their first look at the man who'd been guiding them on their mission. He was a skinny guy with a prominent nose and ears, short brown hair, and wide eyes. He looked like a twelve-year-old.

An elated smile appeared on Citizen Z's narrow face when they stepped into view of the camera above the screen. _"Hey, guys! It's me, your ol' pal Citizen Z!"_ He waved with the frantic eagerness of a man who'd been on his own for way too long. _"Hi, everyone! Addy, you're looking gorgeous as always."_

Trina had to bite her lip to hold back a snort of amusement. Beside her, Murphy rolled his eyes.

_"Oh, hey, you must be Mack,"_ Citizen Z addressed the other man with markedly less enthusiasm, _"I thought you'd be taller."_

"And I thought you'd be old enough to shave," Mack countered.

The NSA agent gave a slow nod, then changed tack. _"Hey, Murphy, squeeze in so I can see you."_

He did a terrible job of hiding his shock when Murphy leaned into view. _"Oh...h-hey,"_ he stammered, _"Lookin' good...sir."_

A muscle in Murphy's jaw twitched. He didn't need the reminder that he looked like shit. He was already well aware of that fact.

Citizen Z quickly changed the subject, much to everyone's relief. _"So, good news. California's back online and getting ready for you. The mission's a go, thanks to yours truly."_ He visibly preened. _"Isn't that great news?"_

"You know what'd be even better news," an unimpressed 10K stated, "How 'bout a package of Oreos and a couple gallons of milk."

Reminded why he sent them there in the first place, Citizen Z quickly directed them to the facility's pantry. He ended with a cheery, _"I can't tell you all how good it is to see you again."_

"Good to see us too, kid," the ever affable Doc waved as they left the room.

* * *

There were plenty of canned goods to be found, labeled in plain white with block lettering. (No medical supplies, though. Cassandra's leg had to remain untreated.) They loaded up on as much as they could fit into their bags and got back on the road. Their current vehicle was a massive SUV with enough room for everyone, provided three of them rode in the rear compartment. The lucky three ended up being Mack, Doc, and 10K. 10K preferred being in the back anyway since it allowed him to stand and put his top half through the skylight, an ideal spot for shooting. Trina, Cassandra, and Addy sat in the backseat, which left the front passenger seat for Murphy, and Warren in the driver's seat.

Murphy was eating from one of the newly acquired cans of food. Even with all the windows down, there was no escaping the stench of his meal. Trina leaned forward to get a glimpse of the can's label in the passenger side mirror. She mentally translated the reversed block lettering: SHEEP BRAINS IN MILK GRAVY.

_What the hell?_

Murphy let out a fragrant belch.

"Augh!" Doc gave voice to the disgust they all felt.

"Alvin," Trina groaned, "Could you not?"

"What" She could hear the feigned innocence in his voice. A look at the side mirror revealed his smirk. She was about ready to slap the back of his head when Doc noticed something on the side of the road.

"Whoa, slow down. Is that a kid?"

All eyes looked to the pulped mess on the road's shoulder that tried to claw at the passing vehicle.

"It _was_ ," Murphy replied, "Now it's zombie roadkill."

A few miles later 10K spotted another unfortunate zee child. This one was walking, a young boy with a flower print shirt and a blue backpack.

"Warren, stop," Addy spoke up, insistent, "Stop!"

The SUV rolled to a halt a few yards from the zombie. Addy got out with her Z-whacker, but suddenly froze mid-swing.

"Addy!" Mack's alarmed shout jarred her back to reality just in time to mercy the dead child as it came at her. Addy denied anything was wrong when Warren confronted her. No one was convinced of that.

The third child they encountered was still alive. Like the previous two, he was a boy of about thirteen. Also like the previous two, he wore a flowered shirt and a blue backpack. Warren got out of the car to speak with him. The kid's name was Sam, and he was attempting to walk all 250 miles to Salt Lake City where he was certain his father awaited him. He didn't believe Warren when she told him the city was overrun with zombies.

"Brennan and Dax are already there," he argued.

(At least now they knew the other kids' names.)

There was no convincing Sam otherwise, so Warren changed tactics. "Here's the thing, we've run out of food. Can you help us?"

"My friend Helen could help you get food."

"I'll make a deal with you," Warren offered, "If you take us to your friend, we'll drive you to Salt Lake City after."

The exhausted boy mulled it over for about two seconds. "Okay."

They managed to squeeze him into the backseat, then Warren followed Sam's directions to a place near Monticello, Utah. They wound up on a gravel road that carved a path between two cliff faces and led to a gated wall fashioned from sheet metal. Numerous NO TRESPASSING signs dotted the trail. Warren halted the SUV, then sent Mack to check it out. He got out of the back of the vehicle and started to approach the gate. He had his gun in hand, but kept it pointed to the ground.

A woman's voice called out," Get back in the truck and leave. You're not welcome here."

Mack looked up to see half a dozen armed women standing atop the jagged rises on either side. He put his gun back in its holster. "It's okay. We're friendly. We ju—"

A gunshot struck an inch from his foot. "Shit! Stop! Just listen for a sec—"

Another warning shot at his feet sent him bolting for the SUV. He jumped into the truck and glared at the kid. "Thought you said they were friendly, Sam."

Warren stepped out of the driver's side with her hands up. "Don't shoot! We have Sam with us."

She waved the kid over. As soon as they saw the boy, the women lowered their weapons. A moment later the gate opened and a tall, matronly woman stepped through, followed by three younger women bearing rifles. Sam jogged over to them.

"Ms. Helen, it's okay," he nodded towards the team, "They're nice. They just need some food."

The older woman smiled and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's good to see you, Sam," she said in a tone that suggested she hadn't expected to see him at all. "Why don't you go in to see your mother. She'll be happy to see you."

Sam obediently trotted through the gate.

Helen turned her attention to Warren and the others as they climbed out of the truck. "Thank you for bringing him back. Sometimes our kids get cabin fever and wander off."

It was total bullshit, but Warren chose not to call her out on it. Too many guns in play to take the risk.

Helen noticed the way Cassandra leaned on Doc for support. "Is something wrong with your leg?"

Cassandra nodded. "It's infected."

"That could be dangerous."

"Yeah," Doc agreed, his brow knitted with worry, "It could."

Helen seemed to make a decision. "We can help. You have come to the Sisters of Mercy."

Murphy chose that moment to let his impatience show. "Anytime now," he griped.

The compassionate smile vanished from the matron's expression. " _You_ don't have to stay," she pointedly told him.

Warren spoke up, "Yes, he does. We're a team."

"You are?" Helen seemed bemused by the notion. "Well, team or not, your men will have to stay outside the wall. Only women and children are allowed here."

The guys did not look happy about that.

"You can stay for twenty-four hours," the old woman continued, "After that, you'll have to leave."

There was little choice if they wanted Cassandra to get her leg tended to. Warren agreed.

Trina gave Murphy's arm a reassuring squeeze before she went to help Addy take Cassandra inside. Before the gate closed behind them, she heard Doc grumble, "This blows."

* * *

The compound of the Sisters of Mercy was a paradise. Lush greenery, clear streams, verdant fields of crops. There were rustic cabins, barns, gazebos, and footbridges. And of course, there were women. Lots of them. Women and little girls. The only males to be seen were a handful of prepubescent boys. Trina noticed how everyone dressed in simple floral print clothes and all (except the boys) had their hair styled in a way that made her think of milkmaids, simple braids coiled around their heads. It was a little strange how uniform they all were. And the lack of any adult men, or even teenaged boys, bothered her. Trina highly doubted the men just got up and left on their own.

The community was actually far enough from the gate to require a short ride in some vehicles. Once they arrived, Helen had Cassandra taken to the infirmary. Meanwhile, a little girl approached Addy and took an immediate shine to her. The girl dragged Addy off to look at her vegetable garden, leaving Warren and Trina alone with Helen. The matron led the two of them to a building that housed the communal kitchen.

"Lina will show you where to wash up," she indicated the young brunette at the doorway," I hope you'll both join us for the midday meal."

Warren and Trina thanked her before they headed to the waiting Lina. She showed them to a large water basin and gave them a bar of homemade soap to wash their hands with. Once they were clean, Trina and Warren went to join the rest of the community at the big outdoor dining area. Addy already sat at one of the long tables with her new little friend. The girl was teaching her some kind of clapping game. Helen sat at the head of the same table. She beckoned the two women to take the empty seats to either side of her.

Trina couldn't remember the last time she ate so well. There were plenty of fresh vegetables and fruits, as well as home baked breads, cheese, butter, and hardboiled eggs.

"Save room for dessert," the woman next to her chirped, "Serena made pie."

It all felt too good to be true.

"How does a place like this even exist?" Trina wondered aloud.

"It was my husband who started all this," Helen answered, "He wanted us to be self-sufficient and off the grid."

Warren set down her water glass. "Your husband?"

There was a strange expression on the older woman's face when she plainly stated, "Gone. Like the others." She gestured to the two women who acted as her lieutenants. "Zina and Emmeline were my sister wives."

Trina blinked in surprise. She knew that some sects of the Mormon church still practiced polygamy, despite assurances that it was no longer officially sanctioned. It was still a surprise to actually meet someone from such a family.

"When Ammon went," Helen continued, "we had each other and this place. All the other women weren't so lucky. Not until we found them. Now they're safe and free."

Warren smiled, but Trina saw the distrust in her eyes. She couldn't blame her. Something felt off about Helen and this "safe place."

"I think I'd better check on Cassandra, see how she's doing," Warren excused herself from the table.

Trina stood as well. "I'm gonna check in with the guys. Maybe bring them something to eat. If that's alright?"

Helen's mouth thinned for a moment at her mention of the men, then pulled into an insincere smile. "Of course. You can check with the kitchen to see what's left that you can take to them."

Trina thanked her and returned to the communal kitchen. Lina was nowhere in sight, but a couple of other women were putting away some of the leftovers.

"Excuse me," she got their attention, "Is there a basket or something I can use? I was going to take some food out to my friends." At their continued stares, she added, "Helen said it's alright."

One of the women, a blonde in baggy overalls with her hair styled in a long braid down her back, grabbed a large basket that hung from a hook and gave it to her. "You're with that group that brought Sam back, right?"

"Yeah." Trina started loading plates of different foods into the basket. There was plenty of everything, so she tried to make sure there was enough variety for the guys to choose from.

The blonde's face split into a wide grin and she closed the distance between them. "I was one of the guards on the wall." She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "I saw you with that man. The tall one with the hair, and those eyes..." Her face took on a dreamy look.

Amused, Trina asked, "You mean 10K? The kid with the rifle?"

"Oh, no! The older one in the dark buttoned shirt. You stood right next to him."

"Oh." This was unexpected. "Alvin. Well, everybody else calls him Murphy."

"Yeah, him." The woman was practically drooling. "You two seemed... _close._ "

Trina honestly didn't know whether to laugh or gawk in dismay. "Um, well, we grew up together. Alvin found me again in Nebraska not too long ago."

The woman let out an enamored sigh. "You are so lucky, reuniting after the apocalypse. If that isn't a sign that it's meant to be, I don't know what is."

To her surprise, Trina found herself getting a bit flustered. "Oh, we're not—"

"I mean, life is just too short, you know?" the woman blithely continued, "Especially these days. And there you are with that gorgeous man, seizing the moment with both hands." She fisted her own hands for emphasis, then folded them over her heart. "It gives me hope that I might find a good man out there for myself. And when I do, I'm gonna be as brave as you and just go for it! Nothin' holding me back!"

"Right..." Though how that would ever happen in a women-only compound was anyone's guess. Trina wasn't going to disabuse her.

"I'm Serena, by the way," the blonde abruptly shifted the conversation, "Does your man like pie?"

* * *

Serena ended up giving her two almost complete blueberry pies leftover from the meal, only a couple of slices missing from them. "I made them myself," she said with her trademark sparkly grin.

The added weight of the pies made the already full basket creak when Trina lifted it. Serena offered to give her a lift to the gate, which she accepted. The blonde chattered the entire ride, but Trina found it kind of soothing rather than annoying, like white noise. Once outside the gate, she thanked Serena again, then walked the remaining distance to the camp the men had set up.

As camps went, it was pretty basic. Just a makeshift awning at the back of the truck, plus a very small tent just the right size to sleep one person. They hadn't even bothered with a campfire yet.

Doc was the first to notice her approach and his eyes lit up at the sight of the basket she carried. "What you got there?"

Trina passed the basket to him, smiled when he grunted at the weight of it. "Thought you guys might like something that didn't come out of a can."

Doc pulled the cloth back to reveal the basket's contents. "Angels from heaven. Is that pie?"

"Homemade blueberry."

"You are a godsend, darlin'" The older man took a deep whiff. "Ahh. That's a slice of pure joy right there."

Trina laughed. She lifted the smaller of the two pies out of the basket and looked around the camp area. "Where's Alvin?"

Mack snorted from his leaning spot against the SUV. "Sulking in his tent."

"He's been in a mood," Doc added.

Just then a familiar deep voice drew Trina's attention to a pair of dirty sneakers disappearing into the one-person tent. "10K, hold my calls. Wake me up after the apocalypse."

Trina headed over, tossing over her shoulder to the guys, "I'm gonna go give him a piece of this."

Mack shook his head in dismay as he watched her breeze past 10K and approach the tent. "How the hell did Murphy wind up with somebody so far out of his league?"

The amiable Doc shrugged. "Love, man. Who can explain it?"

Murphy stuck his head out of the tent as Trina neared. "What?" Annoyance turned to surprise when he saw who it was. "You're back already?"

Trina crouched down and held the pan out to him. "I brought pie. It's blueberry," she tempted.

He glanced down at the delicious looking pastry, licked his lips. With a nod, he ducked back into the tent. Trina grinned and crawled in after him.

She forgot to bring utensils, so they ate with their hands. Fingers and lips became stained from the juices. Murphy moaned with every bite. "My god. It's like heaven shat in my mouth."

Trina burst out laughing at his poetic turn of phrase. "I'll tell the baker you liked it."

Murphy licked the last traces from his fingers. "So what's it like in No Man's Land?"

She sat back on her knees. "It's beautiful," she told him, "Prosperous. They even have some livestock, if you can believe it." A troubled frown marred her brow. "But there's also this cultish vibe that bothers me. That kid we found...I think they banished him. Him and the other two. They gave him a backpack with clothes, but no food or water. And the only reason I can think of for them to do that is because he's not a little boy anymore."

Murphy nodded, unsurprised. "Yep. No Man's Land, like I said." He shuddered. "Those women give me the creeps. There was a blonde one at the wall that kept looking at me."

An amused smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm pretty sure that was Serena. The, uh, baker." She tapped a finger against the empty pie tin.

"Aw, no!" he grimaced, "You sure that was safe to eat?"

Trina chuckled, "It's fine. She's just infatuated."

"Infatuated," Murphy's voice was flat with disbelief.

Trina's smile softened. She place a hand to his cheek. The thick stubble of his beard was rough against her palm. His strange eyes flicked to hers, startled by the intimate touch.

"Some people see a lot more than others," she said in a quiet voice.

Murphy looked away. He gently pulled her hand from his cheek and placed a kiss on her palm. He didn't understand why she wasn't repulsed by the disgusting half-zombie creature he'd become, but he was thankful for it. He was thankful for a lot of things when it came to her.

"I love you." He didn't mean to say that, but didn't feel the panic he would have expected for letting those words slip out.

Trina's lips brushed his forehead. "I love you, too."

His eyes met hers again. She smiled, cradled his face in both hands, thumbs lightly brushing his cheeks. Murphy swallowed. "Trina... What're we doing?"

Her smile widened and a small laugh escaped her. "I don't know."

And then she kissed him. It wasn't like their first and only kiss from years before, an impulsive act between two weed-addled twenty-somethings. This was soft and sweet, and very deliberate. The gentle swipe of her tongue prompted Murphy to open his mouth with a faint sound that was too deep to be called a whimper. Then, at the first taste of her, there was an intense jolt, like licking a battery, and his brain suddenly felt like it exploded, but not in a painful way. It was a burst of feeling more powerful than any high he ever experienced.

They ended the kiss with mutual gasps. Trina's eyes were wide and she was breathing hard. So was Murphy.

"Did you feel that?" he panted.

"Yeah." She touched her fingers to her lips. "What was that?"

Murphy had no idea, but he wanted more. He threaded his fingers through her short hair and pulled her into another kiss. She moaned, her arms went around his neck, fingernails scraped against his scalp. They kissed as if starved for each other, only parting when they finally had to come up for air.

"Wow," Trina breathed. She licked her lips. "You taste like blueberries."

Murphy wished with all his heart that he had a camera right then. He'd never seen her so beautiful, her skin flushed a rosy glow, lips kiss-swollen and smiling, eyes gleaming. He tried to memorize every detail of her in this moment, to carry with him through all the hardships to come.

Trina started placing small, nibbling kisses down the side of his neck. Murphy closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation. But when he felt her fingers pluck at the top buttons of his shirt, his eyes flew open again and he grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"It's okay," she soothed, placing another light kiss on his lips, "Let me see you."

He hesitated. The thought of seeing the tenderness in her eyes turn to revulsion—or worse, pity—was more than he could bear. But she was gentle and patient, whispering reassurances interspersed with more kisses, until his resistance finally crumbled. He let her hand slip free, kept his eyes averted while she unbuttoned his shirt and drew the sides apart to expose his scarred torso.

Trina knew about the scars, of course. Had glimpsed the one on his chest he showed to Grady back in Edgemont, South Dakota. But his was the first time she truly got to see the extent of what happened to Murphy when he was left to the zombies, tied down and helpless. It was horrific. Chunks of flesh torn away, all jagged edges and tooth marks. Murphy was hardly a saint, but he hadn't deserved this. He didn't deserve any of it.

Murphy shivered at the feel of her soft hands gliding over his marred skin. Moments later her lips joined in, causing an involuntary groan to escape his throat. When her tongue swiped over the thick scar tissue over his ribs, his elbows gave out and he fell back onto the sleeping bag. There was a breathy laugh from Trina. Then she sat up, head bumping against the top of the too-small tent, and peeled off her shirt. Her bra quickly followed, giving Murphy his first view of the breasts he'd fantasized about on more than a few occasions. The reality of them was so much better, especially when she placed his hands over them. Soft and perfect.

Dear god, this was really happening.

"I-I don't have a condom," he blurted, astonished that he could even formulate a coherent thought, let alone one so sensible.

Trina grinned, "Guess we'll just have to get creative."

If Murphy won every lottery, every jackpot, every card game without cheating, he wouldn't feel a fraction of the amazement and joy he felt right then. He sat up to pull his arms free of his shirt sleeves, then wrapped his arms around her. The feel of her skin against his, her soft breasts against his bared chest, was pure heaven.

"You are a goddess," he breathed.

She laughed and gently bumped his nose with hers. "Don't put me on a pedestal," she admonished, still smiling, "I'm a woman. That's all."

"That's everything." And he crushed his mouth to hers.

* * *

The flimsy tent undulated like a giant caterpillar, while the sounds of laughter and heated moans emanated from inside.

Mack shook his head. He was seated beneath the awning at the back of the truck with 10K, sharing the blueberry pie.

"Jesus," he muttered, "Love really _is_ blind.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the end of Sisters of Mercy and the first part of Murphy's Law

Sadly, basking in the afterglow had to wait until they put their clothes back on. They pushed their luck by undressing in the first place. Life in the apocalypse involved a lot of sudden running from danger. Sometimes that meant leaving everything behind except weapons. They couldn't afford to take their current safety for granted. So, the couple cleaned up as best they could and put on their discarded clothes and shoes, though Murphy chose to leave his shirt unbuttoned for the moment. Trina was glad to see he no longer felt self-conscious with her.

As she was putting her jeans back on, she felt a rectangular lump in her pocket, reminding her of something she meant to give Murphy at some point. She couldn't think of a better time than now and fished the object out.

"Hey," she held up the object, a battered Altoids tin, "Remember that old rest stop we camped out at last week?" At Murphy's curious nod, she opened the tin. "I found this hiding under one of the benches. Must've rolled under there."

Trina held up her find and was gratified to see Murphy's eyes widen in amazement. It was a cigarette, slightly bent, but otherwise in surprisingly good condition since the rest stop bench had sheltered it from the elements.

"You are the best girlfriend ever," Murphy accepted the cigarette with a grin, lit it with a disposable lighter he'd been carrying around. He took a deep puff, relishing his first nicotine rush in years, then lay back and blew a long plume of smoke towards a small gap in the tent's side.

Trina cuddled up to him, her head on his chest while her fingers lightly traced the edges of one of his bigger scars. She smiled when she felt him press a kiss to the crown of her head. She listened to the rush of air as Murphy breathed, the quiet reverberation of his voice when he hummed in contentment. She even heard the faint gurgle of his stomach. But there was something missing. It took her a minute to realize what it was, because the idea of it was so impossible.

There was no heartbeat. No matter how hard she listened, Murphy's heart remained silent.

It was all Trina could do not to react. What did this mean? Was he dead? Had he died the day those zombies attacked him? She strongly doubted that he even knew about this. As much as Murphy had been freaking out about the weird changes his body was going through, he definitely would have mentioned to her that he was... She couldn't think of a word for what he was. But she needed to tell him. Not now, though. Not while he was so happy. And not before she had a chance to wrap her mind around this unnerving discovery.

"What're you thinking?" Murphy's drowsy voice roused her from her troubled thoughts. Trina lifted her head to meet his gaze, rested her chin on his chest. A soft smile touched her lips at the love she saw in his strangely beautiful eyes. It didn't matter how different he was becoming; he was still her Alvin.

"I'm thinking..."

She was interrupted by the side of the tent unzipping. The couple blinked as the flap opened to let in the bright afternoon sun.

"Alright, you guys," Doc's voice drifted in, "Party's over. It's time to go." The old hippie gawked at Murphy. "Where'd you get a cigarette?"

* * *

"A zombie bear?" Just when she thought the apocalypse couldn't get any weirder. "I knew there was something wrong with that place, but _damn_."

Trina, Murphy, Doc, 10K, and Mack were in the process of packing everything up and stowing it in the SUV. Things had gotten pretty eventful while Trina and Murphy got frisky in the tent. Doc went to take a gander at the compound from a concealed spot on a rise just in time to see Helen and her lieutenants toss a beefy man into a barn where they kept said zombear. Apparently, it was their standard method of executing men who dared to harm any woman. Or just pissed them off in general, which was why Doc was so anxious to get the hell away from this place.

After the bear incident, Addy and Warren accompanied a group of armed women out to the highway to liberate two more "sisters" who were held captive by some bikers. When they returned, Warren stopped by the camp to update the guys on what happened. It seemed that Addy's emotional trauma was worse than any of them realized, and Helen honed right in on the younger woman as a potential recruit to the Sisters' way of life. It didn't look good. She'd already convinced Addy to gun down one of the captive bikers, leaving him to turn and take out the remaining two.

Mack was deeply worried by this news. There was a very real possibility that Addy might choose to stay with the Sisters of Mercy, unless Warren and Cassandra could convince her otherwise.

"I'll try everything I can," Warren promised him, "But you might have to make a choice."

Mack shook his head. "I'm not leaving without her."

Warren returned to the compound to collect Cassandra and, hopefully, Addy. The plan was for the others to drive down to the gate to pick them up, but then Addy surprised everyone by showing up at the camp. She wanted to speak to Mack alone, so the young couple walked over to a fallen stand of trees for some privacy. Minutes later, the others heard Mack's shouts and saw him running after Addy.

"Guess that talk didn't go well," Murphy remarked.

Doc slapped the hatchback closed. "C'mon, get in."

Murphy took shotgun, while 10K and Trina rode in the back. Doc drove the vehicle down to the gate only to discover they'd just missed a bit of violence involving Addy, Mack, and one of the bikers that Addy and the Sisters had left to die.

The biker somehow survived his companions turning zee and trudged all the way to the compound to seek revenge. He captured the distraught Addy as she was running back to the gate after her unfortunate talk with Mack. The biker held her hostage, demanding that Helen trade herself for the younger woman. But before he could follow through on his threat to shoot Addy, Mack caught the man unawares and put a bullet in his head.

Despite the incident that had directly resulted from the Sisters' actions, Addy still wanted to stay. No amount of pleading on Mack's part would convince her otherwise.

"We don't do this," he begged her, "We don't leave each other."

Addy was visibly fighting tears. "I'll always love you, Mack."

As she retreated through the gate, Mack started after her. "Addy, wait— _augh!_ "

He collapsed as a gunshot rang out, clutching his shoulder. Warren rushed to his side.

"You shot him?" the lieutenant thew an accusatory glare at Helen.

The matron was unmoved. "A warning shot. Get him out of here."

It was safe to say the team had worn out their welcome. Warren loaded Mack into the backseat with herself and Trina, while 10K helped Cassandra into the rear compartment with him. Doc hit the gas and they sped away from the compound.

Mack groaned in pain while blood from his shoulder wound stained his shirt. "Stop the car," he grunted.

"Addy made her choice," Warren argued, "We can't go back."

"Stop the car!"

"Keep driving," she snapped the order to Doc.

Mack suddenly clambered over Trina, threw open the door, and tumbled out of the moving vehicle. If it weren't for the fact that she had her seat belt on, Trina would have fallen out with him.

Doc stomped the brakes and Warren jumped out to go after Mack. Trina stuck her head out the window to watch the confrontation between them. The two friends struggled for a moment, then Mack pointed his gun at Warren.

"I can't." It was a simple statement of fact. He would not leave.

As conflicted as she was, Warren knew that arguing with him was a lost cause. "Okay."

Mack lowered his weapon, then ran off to disappear into the overgrowth.

The guards at the gate started to shoot at the stalled vehicle. The shots impacted the dirt road dangerously close to Warren's feet, prompting her to run back to the truck. She hadn't even shut the door before Doc peeled away from the hail of bullets.

A grim silence reigned in the vehicle as the distance between them and the compound grew. Trina felt sorry that Warren and the others lost their friends so soon after their reunion. Not to mention the loss of two strong fighters. But she hardly got to know Mack and Addy before they were gone. And she already knew the team was formidable without them. Hard as it was, the would survive.

Trina reached over from the backseat to touch Murphy's shoulder, felt his hand cover hers and give a gentle squeeze.

* * *

Days after the team had to leave Addy and Mack behind, Murphy started to experience some new changes. The bald patches on his scalp filled in as his hair began to grow back much thicker than it had been for a while. His teeth no longer felt like they were about to fall out of his skull. Even his color seemed to improve somewhat. He started to hope that he might be getting better, until something happened as they entered South Park, Colorado.

The back of Murphy's hand started to itch like crazy. When he tried to scratch, the skin felt weirdly loose. The itch only seemed to get worse, so he scratched harder and felt something give. He looked down in alarm to discover his nails had ripped up a flap of skin. He tugged on the flap and a long strip peeled off the back of his hand like a snake skin. He stared at the torn patch of dead skin in disgust, glanced around to make sure nobody else in the car noticed before he tucked it away in his shirt pocket.

A few minutes later Warren let out a frustrated, "Now what?"

There was a blockage of abandoned vehicles ahead of them, including a white stretch limo, of all things. The truck slowed to a halt.

"Think we can push all that out of the way?" Trina asked, looking doubtful.

Warren shook her head, "I'd like to hold onto this truck for a while."

She spotted a gap in the fence bordering the road that was big enough to drive through. Warren steered the vehicle through the gap and continued into what turned out to be an overgrown golf course.

Murphy gazed out at the ruined green littered with downed flags, scattered clubs, and overturned carts. A few zombies wandered around like grazing cattle. "This is so sad."

Trina was surprised. "Since when are you into golf?"

"I learned to play in prison," he told her, "Always wondered what it'd be like to hang out with the country club types." He said the last part in an upper-class drawl that brought a grin to Trina's face.

They came to a stop next to a wooden footbridge that spanned a narrow stream and connected to a path that led to the clubhouse.

"Think that'll hold this truck?" Doc wondered.

Warren turned off the engine. "Better test it first."

Everyone took the opportunity to get out and stretch their legs. They cautiously began to cross the bridge. It seemed sturdy enough to hold them, though the vehicle might be a different matter. They were halfway across when Citizen Z's voice crackled from Warren's satphone. _"Citizen Z calling all cars. Come in, Delta X-Ray."_

Warren was quick to respond, "Delta X-Ray, back at you."

 _"Good to hear from you,"_ he sounded relieved, _"It's been days and I worry."_

 _He sounds like a mother hen,_ Trina thought with some amusement.

"Any news on Mack or Addy?" she asked without much hope.

Citizen Z's voice turned somber, _"Sorry, there's nothing. Maybe they're off the grid and can't make contact."_

It was a long shot, anyway.

_"How's Murphy?"_

Before Warren could answer, the radio was snatched from her hand.

"Murphy is pissed," the man in question barked into the receiver, "Where the hell's that lab you keep talking about?"

Warren tried to shush him. His shouts threatened to draw any zees in the area to them. But instead of lowering his voice, Murphy just turned and stormed off, still yelling into the radio, "Have you found Dr. Merch yet?"

 _"I'm still working on that,"_ the slightly flustered Citizen Z replied.

Murphy rolled his eyes. "Well, quit looking at porn and find that quack! We got business to settle."

"Somebody needs to get him to quiet the hell down." Warren moved to follow him, but a hand to the shoulder stayed her.

"I got this," Trina assured the lieutenant. Without bothering to wait for any kind of acknowledgment from the other woman, she trotted after Murphy's retreating form. He'd already stopped berating Citizen Z when she caught up. Either he ended the conversation or the satphone just stopped working.

Trina touched his arm. "What's wrong?"

Murphy let out a frustrated sigh, "I'm just sick of this never-ending road trip from hell."

There was more to it than he was ready to say. Trina knew him too well not to pick up on the fact that his belligerence was motivated by fear. Something had him scared. But she didn't push. Instead, she nodded towards the nearby driving range. "How 'bout you show me your moves."

He gave her a surprised look. "Seriously?"

"Sure, why not?" she smirked, "Impress your girlfriend with your golfing prowess."

A smile tugged at his lips at the word "girlfriend". They hadn't gotten much of a chance to talk about what transpired between them, what it meant for their friendship, or whatever their relationship could be called now. Truthfully, Murphy had no idea how to even broach the subject without degenerating into a babbling mess.

He picked up a discarded clubhouse jacket he found draped over a toppled lounge chair and put it on, then grasped Trina's hand and led her to the driving range. To Trina's surprise, he selected a right-handed club from those scattered on the ground.

"They didn't have any lefty clubs in the clink," Murphy explained at her puzzled look, "Had to learn the right way." He smirked when Trina rolled her eyes at his lame pun.

Murphy picked up a ball, set it on the tee, then lined up his shot and swung. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "Kid out of nowhere."

Trina had no idea what that meant, but his enthusiasm made her smile.

Murphy continued his commentary, "Final holes of the Open Championship at the historic Saint Andrews, home of golf."

He placed another ball on the tee, swung. The ball flew in a graceful arc and bonked the head of one of the zombies that wandered the green. Trina burst out laughing when the creature dropped.

"Oh, he got all of that! Sorry!" Murphy called out, making Trina laugh even harder. He grinned, delighted by her humor. He always loved making her laugh.

"C'mere." In an impulsive act of sudden confidence, he took her hand and drew her in for a kiss. That same amazing sensation from their previous kisses overcame him. He felt Trina's arms snake around his neck as their kiss became more intense. When they finally came up for air, they gazed at each other, Murphy's arms around her waist, Trina's around his neck, smiling tenderly.

"You ready to tell me why you were so upset?"

Murphy's smile waned. He looked away from her, his throat working. "I'm losing my skin."

"What?" Her brow furrowed.

He reluctantly let go of her to retrieve the patch of dead skin from his shirt pocket. "That came off my hand," he said, holding it up for her to see.

"Oh, my god." Trina checked the back of his hand, saw the ragged edges from the bit that peeled away. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Itches like hell, though." He tossed the skin away with a grimace. His expression turned pleading. "Don't tell the others. They already think I'm turning zee."

"I won't say anything," she promised. Trina then linked her fingers with his and gently rubbed her thumb against the back of his peeling hand. "We should get back to the others. I think I heard gunfire a minute ago."

Murphy rested the driver against his shoulder and the two of them headed for the clubhouse, hand in hand. They found the team gathered just outside the building along with three heavily armed newcomers: a heavyset man with a short beard, an older guy in a fedora, and a woman with a scar on her left cheek and her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. All three of them gaped at the couple.

"What?" Murphy snapped. He hated when people stared at him like that.

"Kinda risky, don't you think?" asked the heavyset man.

"Nope. Zees love me." He eyed the trio. "Now who the hell are you?"

"Brett Zimmerman," the heavyset man nodded to his companions, "And these are Henry and Janice."

Warren took on the introductions, "Roberta Warren. This is Doc, 10K, Cassandra, Trina, and the fool with the jacket golfing with the zombies, that's Murphy."

"Aw, c'mon, Roberta," Murphy chided, "Don't be jealous. It ain't my fault they like me more than you."

"Or maybe they just don't like you at all," she retorted.

He chuckled and tossed the satphone back to her.

Trina eyed the trio suspiciously. She wasn't comfortable with the fact that they witnessed the two of them striding through the zombies unmolested. She could tell that Warren felt the same way, but neither of them said anything for the time being. They would wait and see how this played out.

* * *

Zimmerman, Henry, and Janice were kind enough to share some of their food. Henry used the clubhouse's outdoor grill to cook up some kind of kebabs while the others cleared out some of the bodies from the dining hall and set a table big enough to seat everyone. Meanwhile, Murphy opted to lounge on the patio and enjoy the sunny day. Trina came out to check on him just as Janice approached with a bottle of water.

"Thirsty?"

Murphy regarded at her over the rim of his sunglasses and accepted the bottle. "Have been since Portsmouth," he said as he unscrewed the cap and took a drink.

At Janice's puzzled look, Trina clarified, "It's a prison in Massachusetts."

"I'm an alum," Murphy grinned. He took another swig of water. With his free hand, he grasped Trina's wrist and lightly tugged her closer. She let him coax her into sitting on his lap, her arm draped over his shoulders, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

The scarred woman let out a sardonic laugh, "Just my luck. Another ex-con."

"Not you," Murphy surmised.

She shook her head, "I was a teacher. Junior High English."

"Small world. Trina was a teacher, too." He smiled up at her.

"Fourth grade," she added.

Janice nodded towards her compatriots talking by the grill. "Henry was in San Carlos. Drug smuggling, I think."

"My kinda guy." Murphy winked at Trina, who snorted.

Once the food was ready, they all went inside to gather at the table (except for Doc, who stood watch outside). The meal was congenial enough, but something about the newcomers made Trina uneasy. It was the way they kept casting looks at Murphy, and even at her. They clearly weren't sure if it was one or both of them who was immune to the attentions of zombies. Trina hoped it was only curiosity on their part, but something told her it was a lot more than that.

Once the meal was eaten, Henry brought out a bottle of expensive looking whiskey and began pouring generous amounts into everyone's glasses. Trina put a hand over hers before Henry could fill it. "No, thanks."

The older man's eyes narrowed slightly. "What? You some kinda teetotaler?"

Her mouth stretched in a thin smile. "I come from a long line of alcoholics. I'm not planning to carry on that family tradition."

Henry looked at Zimmerman, who shrugged and said in a false casual tone, "More for the rest of us."

Trina glanced at Warren, was relieved to see the lieutenant as wary of these strangers as she was.

"Ms. Warren," Zimmerman offered, "Would you care to propose a toast?"

"Sure," she replied after a brief pause. She raised her glass, waited for the others to follow suit. "To absent friends."

"To absent friends," everyone echoed, then drank. Trina sipped from her water bottle.

"Mr. Murphy," Zimmerman finally addressed the elephant in the room, "You and your lady friend seem to have a special way with the zees."

Murphy chuckled. A full stomach and a generous amount of top shelf booze had lowered his guard. "Brother, you don't know the half of it."

Warren immediately tried to put the kibosh on the subject, "Come on, Murphy. Nobody wants to hear your war stories."

"What? They asked!" he exclaimed, oblivious to her warning look.

"I'd like to hear it," Janice said.

Murphy grinned and Trina's stomach sank. He never could resist being the center of attention.

"Alvin..."

Ignoring her cautionary tone, Murphy stood and unbuttoned his shirt. The three newcomers gaped as he yanked the garment open to display his scars.

"Those look like zombie bites," a startled Zimmerman declared.

"Eight of 'em," Murphy boasted, "And I lived to tell the tale."

"How's that even possible?" Henry blurted.

Murphy explained while he rebuttoned his shirt, "I was given an experimental vaccine. Now the zees think I'm one of them." He resumed his seat and picked up his drink.

"Any more of this vaccine?" Zimmerman asked, an avid gleam in his eyes.

"Nope! But if we get to this lab over in California, the doctors there can make more using the antibodies in my blood. And the human race survives." He raised his hand in a wave. "Ta-da!"

Trina resisted the urge to facepalm. Her gut told her these people were not trustworthy, and the fact that they now knew how valuable Murphy was concerned her.

"Please excuse him," she threw him a warning glare, "He's prone to exaggeration."

Janice scoffed, "Come on! We all saw him walk through zombies. And you were right there with him."

"What can I say?" Murphy shrugged in false modesty, "I'm a natural."

A slightly bleary-eyed 10K smirked and spoke up for the first time, "Try _un_ natural."

Instead of taking offense at the kid's mild insult, Murphy laughed.

"Henry," Zimmerman abruptly turned to the ex-con, "Don't forget our friend Doc outside."

The older man nodded and went to take a drink out to Doc. Trina frowned.

Zimmerman addressed Warren, "We're headed west anyway. Maybe we can help you get the rest of the way to this lab."

Warren blinked a couple of times, nodded slowly. "We could use the help."

"Then I'd like to propose another toast," he raised his glass, "To California."

It was as the others joined the toast that Trina's unease became full-on dread. She saw Zimmerman only pretend to sip his drink. Janice didn't even bother to bring her glass to her lips.

Warren let out a yawn. "Must be tireder than I thought," she muttered, blinking heavily.

10K's head thunked down on the table. Murphy laughed, thinking the kid couldn't hold his liquor, until Cassandra fell over as well.

"Wha's happening?" Warren slurred. She tried to stand and draw her machete, only to collapse to the floor.

Trina gasped. Janice had a gun pointed at her, while Zimmerman had his weapon trained on Murphy.

"Sorry about this," the heavyset man smiled. He didn't look sorry at all.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two of Murphy's Law.

Murphy and Trina were handcuffed, then Janice led them at gunpoint to a dull brown utility truck with a camper shell on the back. Henry and Zimmerman joined them a few minutes later and they all piled into the truck and drove away. Trina sat in the front, wedged between Janice and Zimmerman, while Murphy rode in the backseat with Henry.

"Where are you taking us?" Murphy demanded after an uncharacteristic silence in which he glared broodingly out the window.

Zimmerman responded without bothering to turn his head, "Just sit back and appreciate your improved circumstances."

Trina made a noise of disbelief, "How's _this_ an improvement?"

"We have food, water, and fuel," the heavyset man stated coolly, "While your friends had next to nothing."

Henry raised his handgun. "They didn't even have ammo. You should both be grateful we freed you from those losers."

Murphy groused, "Well, maybe losing the feeling in my hands is making me a little cranky." He held up his cuffed wrists for emphasis. "Are these really necessary?"

Trina squinted at the sunlight angling through the windshield. "Why are we going east? Last I checked, California's the other way."

"We're not goin' to California," Henry sneered.

She and Murphy exchanged anxious looks.

"What the hell do you want with us?" Murphy asked.

An irritated Janice glanced at him over her shoulder. "Why don't you just relax, enjoy the scenery?"

"I already seen it," he snapped.

"Then try shutting up," Henry suggested.

"Not my nature."

Trina gasped as she felt the gun's muzzle pressed to the back of her head. Henry snarled, "Then evolve."

"Put that away, Henry," Zimmerman chided while still watching the road, "No need to threaten anybody unless they really misbehave." To the captives he said, "You'll find out what we want soon enough."

Trina let out a shaky breath when she felt the gun withdraw. She managed to keep her voice mostly steady as she ventured to ask, "What about the others? They won't just let you take us."

"You don't have to worry about them," said an unconcerned Zimmerman.

Murphy frowned, "Did you kill them?"

"We left them to the zees," the man sounded smug, "Darwin will take care of the rest."

Both Trina and Murphy kept their expressions neutral. If the team wasn't killed outright, they were bound to get out of whatever situation they were left in and come after them. The couple just needed to find a way to leave some breadcrumbs for the others to follow.

The first opportunity came in the form of an abandoned road construction site.

"I gotta take a leak," Murphy suddenly announced.

Zimmerman let out an impatient sigh, but pulled over just the same. "Make it fast."

They all got out of the vehicle, the kidnappers keeping watch while Murphy started to put some distance between him and them.

"Where we can see you," Zimmerman admonished.

"I got a bashful bladder," Murphy retorted as he approached the light-up sign used to divert traffic. It appeared to be dead, but he saw the solar panel used to power the sign, as well as a small camera mounted to the top meant to record disobedient drivers. With any shred of luck, the camera at least was still functional. Murphy looked right at the small lens while he pretended to pee. "Okay, Citizen Z," he murmured, "Let's see if you're as good as you think you are."

Zimmerman called out to him a moment later, "Time's up, Mr. Murphy. Get over here."

"Just shaking the dew off the lily!" he yelled back. He went through the motions of finishing his pit stop, then zipped up and returned to the waiting truck.

They drove in silence for what felt like hours. Murphy spent much of the time either gazing out the window or staring guiltily at the back of Trina's head. It was his fault they were both in this situation. Him and his big, stupid mouth. The kidnappers knew that Trina was both expendable and yet the best way to ensure Murphy's cooperation in whatever scheme they had planned. If anything happened to her because of his idiotic boasting... He didn't want to finish the thought.

Zimmerman abruptly turned the vehicle off the highway onto a dirt road. Wherever they were headed, it was in the middle of nowhere.

As many times as Murphy had gotten himself into trouble in the past, he also had a talent for subtly manipulating people when he put his mind to it. The key was observation, picking up on the various hints that people tended to reveal about themselves without even realizing it. The hours spent in the trio's company had given him plenty of opportunities to observe not just their personalities, but the dynamic between the three of them.

Zimmerman clearly thought he was a lot tougher and smarter than he really was. Too fat to ever be a soldier, he probably tried to become a cop—more than once, Murphy would bet—only to keep flunking the most basic exams before he ever got into the police academy. That would not have sit well with this guy's fragile ego. Macho assholes like him were always so sensitive about how they thought others saw them.

Janice was angry, both at Zimmerman and at herself. Murphy got the impression that much of that anger was fueled by guilt. What for, he had yet to discover, but once he did, it could prove very useful to drive a wedge between the two of them.

As for Henry, he was a career criminal. Murphy picked up on that pretty easily. Sly to a degree, but not smart enough to ever be more than a middle-man. Why else would a guy his age be sentenced for muling drugs? He was a lackey. An experienced lackey, sure. But still just a lackey.

Having figured out all he could about his abductors for now, Murphy made his first move.

"So, Zimmerman," he began, keeping his tone bored, "What exactly were you before the apocalypse?"

The heavyset man replied, "I worked security."

Rent-a-cop. Of course he was.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was gettin' that vibe."

Trina noticed Janice's smirk from the corner of her eye.

"So, what were you? Military?" Murphy pressed, "Special ops?"

It was pretty obvious that he was trying to push the guy's buttons. And he succeeded, to judge from the growled, "Shut up!"

Murphy obeyed, but Trina practically heard the wheels turning. She glanced at Zimmerman, noticed how he gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter than before. She also noticed Janice's quiet smugness at her companion's irritation.

It was well past noon when they finally came to a stop beside a derelict RV. Zimmerman parked the truck crosswise so that both vehicles blocked the road. Once the engine was killed, everyone got out of the car.

"So, General," Murphy drawled, noting with satisfaction the slight narrowing of Zimmerman's eyes at the nickname, "wanna tell us what the hell we're doing?"

The heavyset man grinned. "Six miles from here is the Mesa Pharmaceutical storage and transfer facility."

"And this matters because?" Trina prompted.

"Mesa's the Fort Knox of the apocalypse," Zimmerman explained, "It's filled with pharmaceuticals, mostly Oxycontin. You both should know the value of drugs in this world. You can trade them for anything." His grin widened. "They're money."

"So, what d'you need us for?" Murphy asked, his frown indicating his suspicions.

"Mesa's full of zees," Janice answered, confirming what Murphy had already guessed.

"Dozens," Henry elaborated, "Some of 'em are hopped up on speed."

"Wait," Trina let out a short, dismayed laugh, "You guys abducted us to help you pull off a heist?"

Zimmerman's gaze took on a hard edge. "I need Mr. Murphy to pull off the heist," he stated flatly, "I need you to ensure his full cooperation."

"Great," Trina muttered. Damsel in distress was not exactly one of her life goals.

"So, Mr. Murphy," the former security guard continued in a more cheerful tone, "You do your walk-through-zombies trick, open the gates for us, and when we ride out, you and your girlfriend are free to go."

Murphy didn't believe that for a second, and he could tell that Trina didn't either. As soon as the trio got what they wanted, he and Trina were as good as dead. Still, there wasn't much choice at the moment. Until a better chance revealed itself, all they could do was cooperate.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Murphy scoffed, "I _love_ Oxy!"

Satisfied by the apparent willingness to play along, Zimmerman informed the couple that they would have to proceed on foot from here on. "Meth zombies are highly sensitive to sound," he explained.

Trina sighed. _This whole scheme is sounding crappier by the second._

Zimmerman and Henry went to rig some kind of tamper-proofing for the truck. Janice watched the men work, leaving her open canteen unattended on the camper shell. Murphy took the opportunity to grab the canteen and—to Trina's disgusted surprise—spat a big glob of saliva into it.

Trina whispered, "What the hell are you doing?"

Murphy put the canteen back and murmured, "Sinking to a new low." He had no idea if his spit would even do anything, but figured he might as well take the gamble.

Janice glanced over at them. "Did you say something?"

The couple shook their heads. They stared intently as she picked up her canteen and took a generous swig from it.

"What?" she snapped, put off by their attention.

Murphy shrugged, his face a mask of false innocence. Trina focused on keeping her own expression blank.

Once the truck was booby-trapped, Zimmerman approached Murphy with the key to the handcuffs. "It's zero hour."

Murphy wasted no time accepting the key and freeing himself from the cuffs, but before he could do the same for Trina, Henry snatched the key away.

"Oh, come on!" Trina protested.

Zimmerman replied, "The cuffs come off after your boyfriend's done his job. Till then, you're our insurance."

She glared, but shook her head at Murphy when it looked like he was about to argue. They needed to pick their battles with these people.

The group of abductors and captives began the hike down the dirt road. The day was bright and hot, which prompted Murphy to remove his pilfered golfing jacket and drape it over his shoulder. Janice drank frequently from her tainted canteen, unaware of Trina's occasional grimace at the sight.

Murphy sidled up to the scarred woman. "I see you're wearing a wedding ring," he noted, "Your husband?"

Janice pursed her lips, "Among the lost." She clipped her canteen to her pack's shoulder strap. "The zees got him last time we tried this, about a month ago."

"You guys tried this before?" Trina blurted, surprised they hadn't given up after the loss of a man.

Janice nodded, "He and Zimmerman cooked up the idea."

"What was his name?" Murphy asked. He sounded genuinely concerned, but Trina knew better. He was working an angle.

"His name was Jason," the grieving widow quietly answered, "He was a cop—"

"Knock it off with the questions," Zimmerman barked from ahead of them, "This isn't ." He called a temporary halt a moment later. "I'm gonna scout ahead. Henry, keep an eye out."

There were several weathered logs lying nearby. The group had passed numerous such piles along the way, the remnants of a lumber operation. Trina sat down on one of the logs with a tired groan. Murphy joined her and draped his jacket over the end of the log. With both men out of earshot, he continued his conversation with Janice, "Gotta be tough, your husband dead and that wannabe Zimmerman still alive."

Janice checked her gun's clip to see how much ammo it held. "Jason knew the risks," she didn't sound very convinced by her own words.

"Worked out for Zimmerman, though."

The widow's eyes narrowed at him. "What're you saying?"

Murphy shrugged, "Just that Jason gets to walk among the dead and Zimmerman gets you."

A mix of fury and guilt twisted the woman's features. "Shut up," she hissed.

Despite the unsavory nature of Murphy's observations, Trina had to admit she was rather impressed with the way he deduced what happened between Janice and Zimmerman. Zimmerman clearly took advantage of the bereaved widow not long after her husband's demise, and now Janice was burdened with guilt and self-loathing along with her grief. All Murphy had to do was prod her in just the right way to steer her emotions into rage against Zimmerman.

This was how Murphy survived since long before the zompocalypse. He wasn't a fighter. His only methods of self-preservation were running and manipulation. If he couldn't run, he figured out how to turn his enemies against each other, and _then_ he ran. It might be underhanded and despicable sometimes, but it kept him alive. And now it would keep Trina alive as well, so he wasn't about to feel bad about it.

"I'm sorry," he told Janice with feigned remorse, "I didn't mean anything."

An uncomfortable silence fell as Janice looked away, lost in her troubled thoughts. Trina looked at Murphy, saw him close his eyes, brow knitted in concentration. Then something really weird happened. When he raised his hand, Janice lifted her gun in the exact same movement. The woman gave a shudder and lowered her arm with a jerk. She cast a frightened look towards Murphy, but said nothing.

Murphy slowly got to his feet, his intense stare focused on the silent woman. Janice raised her weapon again, a slight tremor betraying her internal struggle.

Trina's eyes widened at the scene playing out before her. Part of her was morbidly fascinated by this unexpected power Murphy seemed to have over one of their abductors, but most of her was deeply disturbed. All he did was spit in her canteen, for god's sake! And somehow that gave him mind-control powers?

Janice suddenly fired off a shot into the ground, making Trina jump. Murphy reached over to take the gun from the shaken woman. "Let's be careful with that."

Henry rushed over and tried to grab the gun from him. The two wrestled over the weapon for a few seconds, then Henry shouted and jerked away with the gun. Trina noticed a deep scratch on the back of his hand. She had a strong suspicion that wasn't an accident.

"What the hell is going on here?" Zimmerman returned at a run. "Who fired that shot?"

Henry pointed an accusing finger at Murphy. "He went for her gun and it went off."

Zimmerman turned to Janice. "That true?"

And to Trina's shock, Janice lied, "No. I was reloading and it just went off."

Murphy, of course, rolled with it, "Yeah, I was just trying to be helpful, but this idiot tackled me."

"All right!" Zimmerman sounded like a dad who was fed up with his squabbling kids, "Knock off the bullshit and pull yourselves together. Mesa's just ahead. We need to get going before dark."

Murphy helped Trina stand and Henry angrily gestured with the gun for them to move along. As they resumed their hike, Trina noticed that the golf jacket had been left behind. If Warren and the others somehow managed to survive and track them this far, they were sure to find it.

_They'll find it,_ she told herself. She refused to believe any other possibility.

A few miles on, the sound of a car alarm went off in the distance behind them. Murphy and Trina shared a brief, elated look. That had to be the team coming for them.

"Keep moving," Zimmerman ordered.

They continued towards the pharmaceutical plant, finally came to a halt before an overgrown rise.

"Our target's just over this ridge," the former security man informed them.

"About time," Murphy grumbled.

Henry smirked. "Relax. Your troubles will soon be over."

"I really don't like the way he said that," Trina said with a worried frown.

The trio took a moment to check their ammo and drink some water. Henry noticed Murphy scrutinizing him and scowled in response. "You want something?"

Murphy concentrated. Henry's eyes widened as, dreamlike, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the handcuffs key. He held the key out to Trina, his movements almost mechanical. Trina glanced at Murphy and saw the corner of his mouth twitch in a faint, smug grin that made her shiver with a growing sense of dread. She quickly took the key before Zimmerman could notice.

"Henry!" the heavyset man barked, "Check the perimeter." He pointed a commanding finger at Murphy, "You, over here with me."

Murphy scowled. "Why does everybody think they can boss me around?"

Nevertheless, he did as he was told and joined Zimmerman at the top of the ridge along with Janice and Trina. It was then that the captives got their first look at Mesa Pharmaceuticals.

"Oh, my god," Trina breathed. The area inside the facility's fenced-in area swarmed with the fastest, most erratic zees she'd ever seen. They were so aggressive she even saw a few of them attack each other.

"You want me to walk through _those?_ " Murphy blurted in dismay. "What the hell are they on? Meth?"

"Actually, Ritalin," Zimmerman told him matter-of-factly, "They love the stuff."

"Great," he muttered, "Just what the world needs, ADHD zombies."

"They shouldn't be a problem for you," Zimmerman declared with a lot more confidence than Murphy possessed, "You'll be able to waltz right through."

"Look, soldier of misfortune," Murphy sneered, "You might not care if I'm killed, but I'll bet the rest of humanity does. There's no way in hell I'm doing this."

As he started to turn away, Zimmerman shoved him up against a tree and held him there with an arm across the throat. "I don't care about you or the rest of humanity," he snarled.

Without warning, Murphy sank his teeth into the man's forearm. Zimmerman jerked away with a shout of pain. "Son of a bitch!" he drew his sidearm and aimed it at Murphy's head, "I oughta shoot you right now."

Murphy tensed, but his defiant voice somehow remained steady, "But you won't. You still need me."

"Then maybe I should just shoot your girlfriend." Zimmerman grabbed Trina by the arm and yanked her to his side. He pressed the muzzle of his gun to her temple.

Murphy's eyes widened in fear. "Don't—"

"Oh, god," Janice stumbled past them, her outstretched hand pointing towards the fence, "I can see him. Jason!"

A zombie in a tattered police uniform snarled amidst a group of other zees gathered at the chain link.

Zimmerman threw the distraught woman an impatient glare. "You knew he might be here."

"I've been trying not to think about it," she fixed him with an accusatory look, "But now it's happening and all I can think is that you're the one who got him killed."

"Why don't you think about how I saved your life," he hissed at her. Then his hard stare returned to Murphy. He pushed the gun harder into Trina's temple, making her wince. "What's it gonna be?"

Murphy took a breath, squared his shoulders. "Let's do this."

Satisfied, Zimmerman released his hold on Trina and shoved her after Murphy. Henry met them all at the gate where he announced that the perimeter was clear.

The presence of live humans brought several agitated zombies to the fence. Some of them sported physical attributes that Trina would've thought impossible without any bloodflow, no matter how many little blue pills were taken.

"Looks like they're happy to see us."

Murphy snorted at her remark. Zimmerman ignored her and laid out the plan for Murphy to follow. He seemed so familiar with the facility's layout that Trina suspected his pre-apocalypse job must have involved working as security there.

"Head for the first door past the corner," he pointed, "Go inside and immediately turn right. There'll be a power panel inside a cage. Open it and turn on the main generator."

"Door, right, cage, generator," Murphy recited, "What else?"

"Once the lights are on, go directly across the room in front of you, taking the right hand door to the storage area."

"Should I be writing this down?"

"It'll all be obvious once you see it," Zimmerman assured him.

"Fine," he sighed, frustrated, "Anything else? Want me to get you a chai latte while I'm at it?"

"Get serious," his captor reprimanded him, "Your lives depend on it."

Reminded by the seriousness of their situation, Murphy glanced at Trina. His mouth thinned.

The security guard continued, "Once you're in the staging area you'll see an office up a flight of stairs. That's inventory control. There's an alarm bell inside. All you have to do is set it off to draw the zees away from the gate so we can get inside. Then you bring me the keys to the van that's parked inside. They'll be—"

"Jason!" Janice's anguished cry drew their attention to the zombie that was once her husband.

"Jason's gone," Zimmerman stated harshly. He and Henry then went to check the fence's integrity while a teary-eyed Janice continued to stare at her dead husband.

Murphy went to stand beside her while an ambivalent Trina looked on.

"Must be hard seeing him like this," he whispered in the widow's ear, "Living with the man responsible." He closed his eyes. Janice didn't resist at all this time when he made her reach for her gun.

Trina's stomach churned.

Murphy gently forestalled the gun's removal from its holster. "Not just yet," he said, then straightened and headed for the gate.

Trina hurried after him. "Alvin, wait."

He turned to face her. She gripped the front of his shirt with her still cuffed hands and pulled him down for a brief kiss. "Don't get killed," she whispered against his lips.

"Be ready," he whispered back.

"Enough stalling," Zimmerman yelled, "Get your ass in there Murphy."

Trina watched anxiously as Murphy stepped through the gate. Some of the more aggressive zombies paid him an unnerving amount of attention as he made his cautious way across the yard, but thankfully, none of them attacked. Murphy's zombie whispering seemed to hold up even against meth zees.

Once he disappeared through the building's front door, the breath Trina held escaped in a relieved whoosh. Moments later the siren blared, drawing all the zees away from the fence. As soon as the coast was clear, Zimmerman opened the gate and they proceeded towards the facility's entrance. Janice kept hold of Trina's elbow to pull her along.

They entered the main storage area. Cardboard boxes stacked floor to ceiling, filled with all manner of drugs.

"Look at all this," Zimmerman laughed in triumph.

Henry exclaimed, "Beautiful, man. You did it!"

They found the Mesa Pharmaceuticals cargo van and began filling the back with boxes of Oxycontin. While the trio was occupied, Trina surreptitiously used the key to unlock her handcuffs.

"Murphy!" Zimmerman shouted towards the upstairs office, "Get the van keys and get down here!"

It was easy to miss the sound of the siren while inside the building, but Trina still noticed when it abruptly stopped. Murphy must have switched it off, which meant the zees would soon come after the noisy humans. She braced herself to run.

Murphy descended the stairs, the van keys jingling in his hand.

"Get over here and help," Zimmerman commanded.

Murphy leveled a haughty glare at him. "A am not your stockboy."

The former security guard finally lost the last shred of his patience. He growled and aimed his gun at Murphy's head. "I don't have time for this."

Before Trina could cry out, Warren and the others swept in with their weapons drawn. "Drop it," the lieutenant ordered.

Murphy smiled. Trina grinned in relief.

"Not happening, Warren," Zimmerman kept his gun leveled at Murphy, "Turn around and get out of here before I kill your big ticket."

"Then how will you leave?" she challenged.

"We'll drive," he nodded towards the van, "Dunno what you'll do."

It was then that the first zombies arrived and attacked Henry. The ex-con never even got off a shot before he was dragged screaming to the floor.

More zees poured in and everyone was soon too busy shooting at them to worry about each other. Trina shed her unlocked handcuffs and ran to the back wall where Mesa's motor pool kept their tools. She grabbed the biggest wrench off the pegboard just as a speed zombie came at her. One hard swing knocked it down. Several more stove in its head. When she looked up, she saw Janice lower her weapon as her dead husband lurched towards her. The grieving widow went down without a struggle.

It didn't take long for the team to mercy the rest of the zees. But the fight wasn't over yet. In all the chaos, Zimmerman had taken Murphy at gunpoint to the top of the stairs leading to the office, away from all the bloodshed. Now he used his captive as a human shield.

"Well," he smugly declared, "Now that's over, we're right back where we started. Once again, Warren, you're on the losing end."

Murphy's oddly calm voice interjected, "Actually, this is totally different." He closed his eyes and Zimmerman's arms suddenly dropped to his sides. Murphy turned to face the man who was now trembling under his power. "You're weak, Zimmerman," he spoke in disdain, "You're a weak little man. You were gonna kill me and Trina and all the others. You're pathetic."

Zimmerman's shaking increased as he was forced to raise his gun to his own head, the muzzle pointed upward beneath his chin. His eyes were wide with terror.

The others watched the unfolding events in stunned confusion. Only Trina understood what was happening, and she feared it. She feared the expression she saw on her lover's face.

"It's the apocalypse," Zimmerman protested through gritted teeth.

Murphy turned away, began to descend the steps. "The apocalypse is better off without you."

"Murphy," a dismayed Warren gaped at him, "what are you doing?"

"Me?" he replied innocently, "Nothing." And he closed his eyes, and Zimmerman pulled the trigger. The body toppled with a heavy thud.

Murphy casually tossed Warren the keys to the van.

All the hard running Cassandra was forced to do that day caused her leg wound to reopen. She sat in the back of the cargo van while Doc tried his best to tend to it. Trina took one look at the bloodied bandage, then hurried back into the maze of boxes. She returned moments later with an opened box and placed it into the back of the van. She slid it over to Doc. "Here. Antibiotics."

The old man smiled in relief. "Darlin', you are an angel."

"Thank you," said a grateful Cassandra.

Two gunshots rang out, then Warren and 10K joined them in the vehicle. 10K climbed into the back with the others, while Warren got behind the wheel. "Mercy given," she stated.

Seated in the passenger seat, Murphy uttered, "Not sure that was necessary."

The lieutenant threw him a wary look before she started the engine. The van was filled with tense silence as they drove away, leaving the carnage in their wake.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with a bit of an interlude after Murphy's Law. Then on to Doctor of the Dead. Only one more chapter after this one!  
> Also, there's some adult content ahead.

It was late in the day when they left Mesa Pharmaceuticals for the open road. Warren chose to look for a safe place to make camp rather than continue their journey through the night. They were lucky enough to find an isolated house whose owners blew their brains out with a shotgun, probably around Day One. The bodies were quickly buried in the front yard, then everyone worked out the sleeping arrangements.

Murphy immediately claimed the master bedroom for himself and Trina. Cassandra and Warren got the guest room, which left Doc and 10K with the pull-out couch in the living room. Doc also volunteered to take first watch for the night.

It was quiet as Trina and Murphy readied for bed. An uncomfortable silence heavy with unspoken things. Murphy was the first to crack.

"Look, I'm sorry I got us both dragged into that," he began, "If I'd kept my trap shut—"

"It's not that," Trina interrupted. She sat on the bed with her back to I'm, head downcast. It made Murphy anxious, not seeing her face. He didn't know what he needed to say, how he could fix whatever was wrong, if he couldn't take his cues from her expression.

"Is it what I made Zimmerman do?" He climbed onto the bed on his knees so he could reach out to touch her shoulder. "He was gonna kill us."

Trina let out a deep sigh that seemed to deflate her. "It's not that he's dead, or how you made him die. It's..." She turned around, socked feet on the bed, hugging her knees. Her frown showed that she was deep in thought. When she spoke again, her eyes remained fixed on the bedspread. "You know my parents were alcoholics."

Of course he knew. He remembered every birthday of hers that they forgot, every school event they never showed up for, every vacation they spent going on benders while she was left alone. Trina's family might have had more money than Murphy's, but that never made up for all the neglect and heartache she went through.

"My mom, she didn't start out that way," Trina continued, "She adored my dad. Anything he asked, she'd do. _Anything._ And not because she was afraid of him. Dad was never scary or violent. She was just so desperate for him to keep loving her, like she thought he'd get bored with her or something if she didn't keep making him happy. And every time she gave in, every time she chipped away another piece of herself for him, he'd get this little smile like he won something. Until eventually, the person Mom used to be just...disappeared."

Trina wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I promised myself I'd never end up like her. I would never sacrifice who I am for someone else, no matter how much I loved them." She finally looked at him, eyes wet with tears. "And I do love you, Alvin," her voice quavered, "More than anything. But when you made those people do what you wanted, I saw that same smile on your face that I saw on my dad's. You _enjoyed_ having control over them. You liked the power you had, the same way my dad loved dragging my mom off to another all-nighter."

Murphy found himself unable to think of anything to say. There was a feeling in his chest, in his throat. It took him a while to put a name to it: he was ashamed. "Trina," he swallowed thickly, "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

She shushed him gently, reached out to cradle his face in her hands. "You're changing in ways you have no control over. But you still have a choice over what kind of person you want to be. My parents were addicts, and they chose to love their addiction more than me, or each other, or even themselves." She leaned closer to him, her expression earnest. "You need to decide if you care more about having power over people than what kind of man that power will make you become. And you can't base your choice on what you think I want. This isn't about me. It's about who _you_ want to be. Who you'd be proud to be." She brushed her thumbs against his cheeks. "Promise me you'll think on it?"

He nodded, blinking back tears. "I promise."

"Okay," she sniffled, but there was a smile on her face that felt genuine. "I love you."

"I love you," he whispered back.

Trina kissed him, then they got under the covers. Murphy switched off the battery-powered lamp he'd placed on the bedside table. In the darkness, he tentatively spooned against her, was relieved when she snuggled closer instead of pulling away.

She'd given him a lot to think about. And the fact that she not only cared, but truly believed that he could be a better man, affected him more than even her declarations of love. No one had ever believed in Murphy like that. Not even himself. He realized then that he wanted it to be true, not just for her sake, but for his own. He wanted to be better.

* * *

Murphy didn't expect to sleep much that night, but the next thing he knew, the weak light of sunrise was filtering through the bedroom curtains. He was on his back, Trina beside him on her side, head propped on her hand. Her short hair was adorably mussed, and she was smiling at him.

"You were snoring."

Murphy blinked. "Yeah? Well...you drool."

"I do not!" she laughed.

Murphy smiled at the sound, but sobered almost immediately. He rolled onto his side and rose up on his elbow to bring himself level with her. "Are we okay?" he asked, hesitant.

Her smile became softer. "Of course we are."

Relieved, he leaned in to kiss her. He felt the rush, as always. That strange surge whenever he kissed her that he knew wasn't normal, but couldn't bring himself to care, it felt so good. He soon had Trina flat on her back and plundered her mouth like a man dying of thirst. He finally came up for air, both of them gasping. Trina's skin was flushed, her pupils blown.

"Check the nightstand," she panted.

It took Murphy's lust-addled brain a second to understand what she was getting at. Once he did, though, he was scrambling to pull open the drawer at the front of the bedside table. _Please let there be one, please let it be there..._

"Oh, thank god!" He triumphantly held up a small, square foil packet.

Trina's smile was radiant as she snatched the packet from him.

"Wait a sec." Murphy leapt from the bed and dashed over to the vanity, grabbed the chair in front of it and jammed it under the doorknob. He was not about to allow Warren's usual wake-up call interrupt them.

Trina laughed as he hopped back into bed, causing the mattress to bounce. She reached over to tug his shirt off. His scars no longer looked so raw, but they were noticeably larger, their edges creeping outward over his discolored skin. Trina pushed aside any concern she might have. She could worry later; now was about them. She peeled off her own shirt and removed her bra while Murphy struggled out of his pants. As soon as the last bit of clothing was tossed aside, they were tangled up in each other, skin against fevered skin.

God, Murphy wished he could take his time with her. He wanted to touch and taste every part of her, wanted to make her come with his mouth.

_Someday,_ he promised himself.

His mouth found her breast, nipple hard against his tongue. His hands roamed over every dip and curve of her body. Trina's own hands were just as busy on him, gliding over his chest, his back, squeezing the globes of his ass. Then she pushed his shoulder to urge him onto his back and straddled him. She ripped the foil packet open with her teeth, rolled the condom onto his already weeping cock. Her hand steadied him while she slowly lowered herself.

A loud groan escaped Murphy as her body engulfed him. Her hips started to move in twisting circles that drove him insane. He gazed up in awe of her, glowing in the morning sunlight. His hands slid up her thighs to her waist, further up to cup her breasts. She threw her head back and moaned when he pinched her nipples.

They startled at a knock, followed by a thud as someone tried to open the door. "Murphy? Trina?"

"Ah, shit," he groaned at the unwelcome voice, "Not now, Warren!"

"Get up, both of you," she sounded annoyed, "We got a long drive ahead of us and I don't wanna waste any daylight."

Trina flashed a mischievous grin and squeezed her inner muscles. Murphy's eyes rolled back. " _Jesus,_ " he hissed, "Ten more minutes!"

"Murphy—"

"Goddammit, go away! Let me finish fucking my girlfriend!"

Trina clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

After a heavy pause, Warren's grudging voice finally conceded, "Ten minutes." Her footsteps receded.

Trina's laughter continued as Murphy flipped them over, putting himself on top.

"Sorry, baby," he slid a hand between them, "We'll take it slower next time."

"It's okaaay... _ohhh!_ " Her back arched as he furiously rubbed her clit. His hips snapped in rapid, almost desperate thrusts until, too soon, they both fell off the edge and landed safely in each other's arms.

* * *

They were somewhere west of the Rockies when Citizen Z made contact again. Days spent traveling in the less than comfortable cargo van left everyone tired and irritable. Murphy especially became a fidgeting mess, scratching at himself as if he were covered in fleas. Whenever someone asked if he was okay, he'd snap and tell them to mind their own goddamn business. The only person whose company he still tolerated was Trina.

Warren pulled over for a much-needed pit stop and everyone got out to stretch their legs. Everyone except Murphy, slouched in the front seat, and Trina, who opted to stay with him. She moved from the back of the van to sit in the driver's seat beside him.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Murphy anxiously rubbed a hand along his scalp. The ever thickening hair rasped against his palm. "Y'know how when a scab starts itching? Feels like I'm covered in one giant scab."

Trina touched his arm in sympathy. She wished there was some way for her to help him, but all she had to offer was comfort. It didn't feel like enough.

Murphy glanced up at the sun visor where Warren stowed the van's keys. "We could just go."

"Go where?" Trina asked.

He shrugged. "I dunno. Somewhere we can just...stay." He heaved a sigh, "I'm so damned tired of this fucking road trip."

Trina's hand slid down his arm until she interlaced their fingers. "I wish we could stop."

" _You_ could," he said, not looking at her, "It's not like you owe me anything."

She frowned, "Where's this coming from?"

He chewed his lip, forced himself to turn and face her. His strange eyes were full of something akin to despair. "I'm not human anymore," his voice was strained, "I don't know if I'm dying or turning zombie, but I think I'm way past any doctor's help. I don't want you to see...whatever this is...happening to me." He swallowed, "I don't want your last memories of me to be some kind of rotting freak."

"Hey," Trina cupped the side of his face with her other hand, "I'm not going anywhere. Whatever's happening to you, the person you are isn't changing. I love you, and I will stay with you no matter what." She smiled tenderly at him. "You're stuck with me."

Tears welled in Murphy's eyes. "I'm scared."

She pulled him into a comforting embrace. A knock at the window interrupted the moment.

"It's Warren," Trina murmured.

Murphy drew himself from her arms, wiped his eyes, then turned and rolled down the window. "What?"

"We found a taker," Warren informed him.

Puzzled, he asked, "For what?"

"For you."

Trina frowned at the lieutenant's choice of words. Murphy wasn't some commodity to trade. "What about California?" she queried.

"We've got new orders to head for a lab in Fort Collins, Colorado."

Murphy was thrown by this unexpected turn of events. "What the hell is in Fort Collins?"

"Dr. Merch is there," Warren told him, "She's waiting for you."

Hearing that name definitely changed things. "Dr. Merch," Murphy growled, "I got a bone to pick with that bitch."

"That bitch is the reason you're still alive," Warren reminded him.

He snorted, "Define 'alive'."

The others returned to the vehicle, ready to set off for their new destination. Doc volunteered to drive for this stretch. Trina moved to the back with 10K, Warren, and Cassandra so that Murphy could sit in the passenger seat. Doc whiled away the miles with his friendly chatter until he suddenly declared, "Y'know, Murphy, I think I'm actually gonna miss your sorry ass."

Murphy blinked in surprise. "Well, I appreciate the sentiment."

"We logged some miles together, brother," the old hippie reminisced, "Startin' to feel like a damn family."

Trina smiled. Even though she couldn't see his face, she knew Murphy was touched by Doc's words. Not many people in his life said things like that to him. At least, none who meant it.

"I don't think I've ever actually said this to anyone except maybe Trina," Murphy let out a soft chuckle, "But...I almost consider you a friend."

Doc smiled in thanks. "I don't envy you, though, man," he continued, "Hell, once we deliver you, all bets are off. You're gonna have more needles stuck in you than the damn tomato in grandma's sewing basket."

A nonplussed Murphy stammered, "N-No, they're just gonna—"

"Oh, trust me," Doc blithely interrupted, "They're gonna have some kinda probe rammed in every orifice, or my name ain't Sally." He was on a roll, completely oblivious to Murphy's growing panic. "You know, this one time I had a catheter? Dude, you better hope they don't go that route!"

"Doc!" Trina spoke up, caught somewhere between humor and exasperation, "Can you please change the subject?"

"Oh, uh, right." Finally realizing his blunder, the older man cleared his throat in embarrassment. "So, what's everybody else's plans for after the mission? 10K?"

The kid shrugged. "I dunno. Still got six thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight to go. Might take a break, though. Head up north where it's cold. Zees don't fare too well in the cold."

"Neither do I," Doc quipped. "Roberta?"

"Um," she mulled it over, "Maybe keep going west. I've never been to California."

"What about you, Doc?" Cassandra asked. Time off her feet, plus the antibiotics Trina got for her, had done a world of good for her leg. She still had a limp, but the danger of the wound reopening again was long past.

Doc answered thoughtfully, "Think I'll get myself a boat and sail around the world. Find me an island where there's not even a Z in their alphabet."

Warren laughed.

Fort Collins turned out to be an underwhelming sight. Just a cluster of corrugated warehouses, from the looks of it.

"Citizen Z said to look for a metal shed with a roll-up door," Warren instructed.

The building that fit the description was surrounded by zombies. There was something off about them, though. Instead of their typical milling around, the zees all stood eerily still, facing the door.

"What're they all lookin' at?" 10K wondered as Doc brought the van to a halt.

Trina peered over the back of the passenger seat and frowned. "That place looks kinda small. You sure this is right?"

Warren slid open the van's side door and got out. The others followed her lead, stretching their legs after the long ride while still keeping a wary eye on the zombies.

Warren approached Murphy. "Let me see your hands."

A puzzled frown creased his brow. "My hands? Why? This one of those hygiene things again?"

"Just let me see them," she quietly insisted.

Murphy sighed and held his hands out. A second later, he found himself in a pair of handcuffs.

Trina rushed over. "Wait. What're you doing?"

"They're looking for a group of civilians transporting a prisoner," Warren calmly explained, "I don't want anyone mistaking him for a zombie."

"Bullshit," Murphy spat, "You don't trust me. After all the times I've saved your ass."

The lieutenant was unmoved. "Trust has nothing to do with it. I don't want anyone piking you after getting you this far."

Trina scowled at the other woman. "Alvin's right. That's bullshit."

Warren remained stoic.

Murphy scoffed, "Let's just get this over with." He took hold of Trina's arm and marched towards the shed with her before the others had a chance to follow. Not that they would with all the zees around.

Doc called out, "Wait! Murphy!"

That proved a mistake, as the sound snapped the zombies out of their trance. Murphy turned and gave a sarcastic double thumbs up while the dead swarmed after the team. Trina kept to his side, his weird mojo protecting her. Warren, Doc, and the others jumped back into the van just as the zombies surrounded the vehicle. The lack of gunfire revealed just how dire the ammo situation was for the group.

Trina took in Murphy's smug expression. She wasn't overly concerned. He wasn't going to let anything happen to them. He was just making a point. Considering Warren's actions, she felt he was justified.

"Murphy!" Warren shouted through the window.

"What?" He feigned surprise, "Oh, you want my help? Sure, why not." He glanced over at Trina. "Stay here."

"Okay." She kept her pickaxe at the ready as she watched him return to the van. Trina was amused to see his solution to getting everyone through the mob of zees involved a shuffling group hug. It worked, though. They all reached the shed unharmed. Warren typed the access code Citizen Z had given her into the keypad and the door slid upward to admit them. Trina was startled to discover the small building's interior was actually something like a freight elevator.

Murphy entered last. The door slid shut on the snarling crowd of zombies. As the elevator began its descent, he said drily, "Y'know, before the apocalypse, I had the same effect on the ladies."

Trina snorted.

It was at least a couple of minutes before the elevator reached the bottom. They had to be hundreds of feet below ground. Warren raised the gate and everyone stepped out into what appeared to be an underground medical lab. There were bodies strewn around in varying stages of decay.

Trina had her doubts that Dr. Merch was even here. "This place doesn't _look_ operational."

"Those zombies up there," Cassandra reasoned, "must want something down here."

"But what?" Warren asked.

"Same thing they always want," Doc muttered, "Brains."

"No."

Startled, they all looked at Murphy. He stared intently at the dim corridors. "Something here's attracting them like a magnet. I can feel it."

Warren took a keycard off a dead lab tech. Fortunately, the power still worked. When she scanned the card, the plexiglass doors slid open. Weapons drawn, the team cautiously entered the facility.

Trina hung back at the rear with Murphy. She saw him twisting the cuffs back and forth on his wrists until the connecting chain gave with a soft _ping_. Her eyebrows shot up in amazement. It seemed the list of Murphy's new physical changes included enhanced strength. Murphy noticed her look and winked.

The group came upon a surreal scene of half a dozen corpses slumped around a table. They were wearing party hats and there were paper plates with partially eaten cake slices on them. The main part of the cake sat at one side of the table.

Warren shook her head. "Happy damn birthday."

"Aw," Doc commiserated, "Reminds me of my fiftieth."

10K read what was left of the cake's message, "'Happy Birthday, Dr. Kur—'"

"Dibs on the last rose!" Murphy snatched the confectionary flower off the cake and stuffed it into his mouth. There were collective grimaces from everyone. "Damn vaccine makes me crave sugar," he said, defensive.

Trina noted that he was careful to keep his wrists together, so the others wouldn't know about the broken cuffs.

"Lemme know if you start craving brains," Doc said. Murphy rolled his eyes in response.

A distant clang and familiar growls made the group tense. There were zombies down here.

Warren approached Murphy with the key to the handcuffs. "Considering the situation..."

He casually moved his unfettered hands apart, smirked at her nonplussed look. "Pilates," he stated drily. He still took the key in order to remove the bracelets.

The zombie sounds got closer. Doc and 10K sacrificed the last of their ammo to take them out. Doc threw the remains of the cake in the last zombie's face, blinding it so that 10K could sneak up and bludgeon it with a pipe wrench he found somewhere. "Three thousand and three," the kid stated.

Now that it was quieter, a faint sound was able to reach their ears.

"Is that a phone?" a startled Cassandra asked.

They followed the melodic chime to a pair of bodies slumped over a computer workstation. Man and woman, both mercied. It appeared the woman had ripped a hole in the unfortunate man's neck. There was an iPhone clutched in his hand, still plugged into its charger. Doc picked it up and checked the screen, silencing the chime in the process.

"Gotta be twenty text messages here," he declared, "Looks like the guy was texting his wife when all this went down." Without any prompting, he began to read them out loud.

* **Something happened at the lab today. Can't talk now, call you later.**

***Won't be home till late, not telling us why.**

***Putting us under quarantine. Will update when I know anything.**

***Starting to get scared. Something very wrong.**

***Something infecting us. We might not get out.**

And finally: * **Tell the kids I love them.**

Trina felt a welling of sympathy for the long dead man's family. They probably never knew for sure what happened to him. Never got the chance to lay him to rest. Of course, they were most likely dead as well by now.

The phone chimed. Doc made a surprised sound. "Hey, it's a message from Citizen Z!"

* **Operation Bite Mark, please respond if you get this. Hacked & searching mainframe. Discovered files you should be aware of. Really weird stuff.**

***Find working computer. Search** **HZN1 test results/code name level nine** **.**

***Password: Red Death.**

Murphy shoved the corpses out of the way and sat at the computer. He quickly inputted the search and typed the password. It brought up several video files. The earliest ones showed some unfortunate lab monkeys that were obviously zombified.

"Animal testing. No surprise there," Warren remarked.

Trina frowned at something and pointed to the lower left of the screen. "Look at the dates."

"That's a year before anybody was infected." Murphy leaned back in the chair, his expression a mix of confusion and anxiety. "How did they know to be working on a vaccine before anybody was infected?"

Nobody had an answer. At least, none they were willing to voice.

Murphy selected another file, a document on one of the doctors on staff. There was a photo included of a dark haired woman in a lab coat.

"That's her," he stabbed a finger at the image, "That's Dr. Merch, the bitch that did this to me!"

Warren placed a hand on his shoulder. "Okay, take it easy."

Another video, this time of Dr. Merch interviewing a lab tech who was quarantined in a sealed room. He'd finished his shift after working with some samples and something went wrong with decontamination. The alarm had gone off, even though the lab tech—Brendan Doyle—insisted he followed protocol to the letter.

_"This is a false alarm,"_ he insisted, _"The sensor made an error. I didn't touch anything. I didn't puncture my suit. I followed protocol!"_

Doyle stared fearfully through the glass that separated him from Merch. _"Am I gonna be sick?"_

The video ended there.

"Something tells me it didn't end too well for old Doyle," a frustrated Murphy muttered.

Doc was suitably freaked out by the whole thing. "Okay, I vote we go back out to the apocalypse. Who's with me?"

"Nobody's going anywhere," Murphy surprised them all with that declaration. He stood and turned to face the team, his expression set in determination. "This is not a goddamn democracy. We came here to find Merch and that's exactly what we're going to do."

"He's right," Warren agreed, though she wasn't happy about it, "She's still our only chance at a vaccine. We can't leave her if she's down here."

Doc sighed in resignation, "You're right. I just thought we might wanna, I don't know, live."

They continued deeper into the lab. Moments later the cellphone—which Doc brought along—started ringing. Doc answered and put the call on speaker. "Zombie apocalypse, how may I direct your call?"

_"Operation Bite Mark?"_ Citizen Z's tinny voice emitted from the tiny speaker.

"Yeah, that's us."

_"Are you still all together?"_

"Correctomundo," Doc answered cheekily, "So, what fresh hell awaits us?"

_"According to the operations manual I hacked into, you'll need to go through decontamination."_

"Great, I could use a shower," Trina remarked.

"Same here," Doc agreed, "I haven't had a decent shower since New York."

_"Well, it's not exactly a shower,"_ Citizen Z said, sounding a tad nervous, _"But here's the most important thing. It's imperative that you decontaminate before returning to the surface. This lab is equipped with Defcon One quarantine assurance."_

"Defcon One?" Murphy blurted, "As in freaking _nukes?_ "

_"Yes. If quarantine is breached, the lab is targeted to be incinerated by a tactical nuclear weapon."_

"Of course it is," Murphy grumbled.

_"And there's one more thing about the decontamination process you need to know..."_

* * *

Decontamination involved exposing their bodies to a burst of ultraviolet radiation, and for it to be effective, they had to get naked. Meanwhile, their clothes and possessions were to be placed in a chute to be sterilized with liquid nitrogen.

It was an awkward situation all around. The team stripped and stood in a circle, facing outward to give each other a modicum of privacy.

"Eyes up front, young man," Warren snapped her fingers at a peeking 10K.

"Sorry! Sorry," the blushing kid stammered.

Doc passed around some protective goggles that resembled the kind used in tanning booths. As he handed a pair to Murphy, he unintentionally glimpsed something that made him pause. "Whoa."

Warren looked over her shoulder to see what elicited his reaction. Her own expression became concerned. "Murphy, your scars. They look like they're spreading."

His shoulders and much of his back were spiderwebbed with lines of expanded scar tissue. He touched the ones on his shoulder self-consciously. "That's what I wanted to talk to Merch about," he said defensively. "Put your goggles on and quit staring," he snapped, "I'm not the goddamned Elephant Man."

Doc and Warren guiltily turned away. Murphy felt a touch on his arm and looked to his left to see Trina's supportive smile. He mustered a wan smile in return.

Once they all had their eye protection on, 10K hit the big red button and the room was flooded with ultraviolet light. Afterward, they retrieved their things—none the worse for wear—and got dressed.

"Man, I think I fried my gonads," Doc groaned, "Should've put sunscreen on my junk."

Both Cassandra and Trina snickered.

Murphy watched his girlfriend's humor and reached out to take her hand. He felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude that she was here with him. Not because of any mission, but because he mattered to her. There was no one else he could say that about, even before the apocalypse. Just her and his long dead mother.

Trina smiled at him, seeming to understand his unspoken thoughts. She squeezed his hand and kept hold as they proceeded with the others further into the lab.

They found themselves in a dimly lit hall that led to a door marked PATIENT QUARANTINE. Warren opened the door. It was even darker inside. The flashing red emergency lights only served to make it more unsettling. Those with flashlights shone them down the corridor. There seemed to be no immediate threats.

Doc grabbed Murphy's shoulder when he tried to walk in. "Dude! It says quarantine. Can't we just believe 'em?"

"What, are you high?" Murphy scoffed, is impatience clear, "We're already infected." He led the way, still holding hands with Trina, while the others reluctantly followed. The group soon came to a series of metal doors, each with a small round window like a porthole.

Trina peered into the first one and gasped, raised her light to get a better look. It revealed a cramped, bare cell with a man inside. His legs were amputated at the knees and there were all kinds of tubes stuck into his almost naked body. She couldn't tell if he was alive or dead.

"This isn't a hospital," Murphy exclaimed beside her, "It's a goddamn hall of horrors."

Warren called them over to the next cell. Morbidly curious, they crowded around the tiny window and saw a raggedy woman covered in open sores. Black flies swarmed over her, feeding on her. By some awful miracle, the woman was still alive. Her lips formed the words _help me_ over and over.

"We should give her mercy," Warren murmured.

Doc protested, "We open this door, them flies are gonna be feeding on us."

He was right. Who knew what diseases those flies might carry? They couldn't take the risk.

"Over here," 10K called their attention to another cell. "The door's open. Something got out."

"What was it?" Cassandra wondered.

"Better question is, where'd it go?" was Warren's sobering response.

As if on cue, low growls reached their ears. Whatever had escaped the cell was still here.

Doc's light fell upon something crouched among the tangle of pipes and old equipment. "Shut the—"

"There's another one," Warren pointed.

The creatures weren't behaving like zombies. More like feral animals watching furtively. One of them was hairless and covered in boils. The other looked like an albino with its white hair and beard. Black stuff oozed from their mouths, the usual zombie drool.

Doc anxiously pushed at Murphy's shoulder. "Talk to them. Do that thing you do."

Murphy took a few nervous steps closer to the strange zees and tried to focus. "Guys," he said a moment later, "These aren't regular zombies. They're some kind of mutant things..."

The creatures suddenly charged. Murphy backpedaled. "I don't think they like me!"

The one covered in boils slammed into him. Murphy yelled in alarm as they spun, wrestling each other. The rest of the team hurried to stay out of their way. Waving flashlight beams chaotically lit the scene.

"Alvin!" Trina cried out as the albino came snarling at her. Murphy appeared from nowhere and tackled the white-haired mutant, almost careening into Doc and Warren, who hastily dove out of their path. Trina tried to rush in and help, but Murphy shoved her away before he grabbed the boil-covered zee with his other arm.

He was now fighting both mutants at once. A tangle of limbs and inhuman screeches. Then there came a fleshy tearing noise, and the roars abruptly fell silent.

Warren steadied her flashlight on Murphy, standing between two headless bodies that toppled to the floor. Blackish blood stained Murphy's palms. He'd somehow ripped their heads off with his bare hands.

A relieved Trina ran over and flung her arms around him. He hugged her back, careful not to get any of the blood on her. "You okay?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes." She released him, then gave him a shove. "Don't fucking scare me like that."

Murphy smiled. He bent down to wipe his hands on the shirt of one of the bodies. When he straightened, his face was deadly serious. "Let's go find Merch."

As he led the way further down the corridor, Warren voiced a concern that was on pretty much everyone's mind, "What's he gonna do when we find her?"

Doc shook his head, "I dunno, but I'm glad I'm not her."

The lieutenant pursed her lips. However justified Murphy might be in seeking revenge, Dr. Merch was vital to the mission to see a vaccine created. The doctor couldn't save humanity if she was dead. "Be ready for anything."

They came upon a trail of gore on the floor that led around a corner to a door labeled BIOCONTAINMENT. Warren drew her machete and opened the door. It made a hissing sound like an airlock; hermetically sealed. The team was relieved to discover better lighting inside. The room contained rows of tables, each holding what looked like steel coffins, but with air holes on the sides.

"Could this place get any creepier?" Doc wondered aloud as they followed the gore trail between the coffins.

"Yes," Warren replied tersely.

The trail turned a corner between two of the last caskets. It led to a gurney that stood before a work counter cluttered with lab equipment, including a functioning computer. Resting atop the gurney was the top half of a body so decayed that much of its flesh had sloughed off and puddled around it like melted wax. Most of its ribs and remaining spine were exposed, yet the body's clouded eyes still moved to look at them.

Trina's own eyes widened in horror. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, god. It's alive."

But it wasn't a zombie. There was a terrible awareness in its milky gaze. Horrible, agonizing consciousness.

"Is that Dr. Merch?" asked Cassandra, her expression a mixture of pity and disgust.

Murphy stepped closer. "No... It's the lab tech from the video. Doyle."

How he knew that was anyone's guess. It was impossible to even discern the poor creature's gender from looking at it.

Murphy noticed Doyle's hand on the computer keyboard. "He wants to show us something."

As if that were a cue, Doyle pressed one of the keys. A video began to play on the monitor. It showed the human Doyle strapped to a gurney while Merch stood over him in full protective gear, her face mostly concealed behind a mask.

_"Why are you doing this to me?"_ Doyle pleaded.

_"It's for your own good, Brendan,"_ was Merch's brusque reply, _"You've started to react to the virus."_

Hard to tell if that was true or not. Doyle didn't look sick, just scared.

_"Don't give me that shit you gave the monkeys! I've seen the side effects!"_

The doctor would not be swayed. _"We can't wait any longer. You'll be the first human trial of the vaccine."_

This was all kinds of wrong, Trina thought. Legally and morally. She looked at Murphy, realizing this was the exact same ordeal he went through. She saw the helpless rage that burned in his eyes.

_"What's gonna happen to me?"_ Doyle's voice sounded small.

Merch hesitated. _"...I don't know."_ Then she injected him with the vaccine.

Doyle went into violent convulsions. Merch struggled to hold him down as a second person in protective gear hurried onscreen to help her.

_"Hold him still!"_ the new arrival, a man, commanded. He then pointed towards the camera without turning to face it. _"Turn that camera off."_

Merch slapped a button and the screen went dark.

Cassandra broke the silence that followed, "The vaccine kept him from turning zombie."

"But it won't let him die," Warren added solemnly.

Doyle let out a weak gargle. Murphy leaned closer. "What're you trying to say?"

The words came out in the faintest whisper, yet they all heard them as if he screamed them.

"Kill me."

A tear slipped down Trina's cheek. She reached for her pickaxe.

Citizen Z suddenly appeared on the monitor. _"You've got company. Looks like Dr. Merch and two soldiers headed your way."_

The door hissed open to admit the three new arrivals, all wearing the same kind of protective suits and masks seen in the video moments ago. Murphy stepped up to confront the leader. "Dr. Merch," he growled, "We meet again."


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. The last chapter. This marks the end of Part 1 of the Love Is Enough series. Stay tuned for Part 2, and thanks for reading!

"Dr. Merch," Murphy growled, "We meet again."

The mask came off to reveal not Dr. Merch, but a bald man with predatory eyes. "I'm afraid Dr. Merch didn't make it," his mouth stretched in a bland smile, "I'm Dr. Kurtz, her boss."

Trina recognized his voice. He was the unknown man in the video they just watched, the one who kept his face averted from the camera.

"We've gone through a great deal of effort to find you, Mr. Murphy."

"I've been on a little road trip," Murphy replied dryly.

"Well, your journey's over now. Your friends are to be commended for their bravery and commitment," the doctor nodded to each of them, still smiling that emotionless smile, "Humanity owes you all a great deal."

Trina was relieved to see the others seemed as wary of this man and his goons as she was. Something about this situation didn't feel right.

"What's going to happen to him?" asked Warren.

Dr. Kurtz answered, "We'll take him the rest of the way to the lab in California where we'll clone the antibodies in his blood. With any luck, we'll be able to recreate the vaccine that's keeping him alive."

"And what if I don't want to be your guinea pig?" Murphy challenged.

The doctor calmly responded, "Well, then you'll eventually wind up like Brendan Doyle over there." He nodded towards the gurney and its decaying occupant. "Speaking of, someone should really give that poor creature mercy."

Trina opened her mouth to volunteer, but Murphy beat her to it, "I'll do it."

Warren loaned him her Bowie knife. He walked over to Doyle, gazed down at the suffering man with tears in his eyes. Murphy gently grasped his rotting hand. "I'm sorry," he sniffled, "I'm sorry for everything."

Doyle whispered something that only Murphy was close enough to hear. "Don't...trust...him."

Murphy gave the slightest nod. "I give you mercy," he murmured, then drove the blade into the lab tech's skull, ending his torment.

When he turned to face the doctor, Murphy stated flatly, "I'm not going."

A startled Warren took her knife back as she confronted him, "Murphy, this is why we came here."

He ignored the lieutenant and addressed Kurtz again, "Why should I trust anything you say?"

"Let's start with you have no choice." The doctor and his soldiers raised their automatic rifles and stepped closer.

The group tensed. "What're you doing?" Warren demanded, brandishing her machete.

"Just a precaution."

"Hold on a minute," Doc stepped in to try and defuse the situation. "Ain't no reason to jump bad. He's just nervous."

Trina wished some ammo would magically appear in their guns. 10K alone could take all three men out with as many or fewer bullets.

"Really, this is so unnecessary," the doctor sighed in annoyance, "No one's going to harm you, Mr. Murphy."

A tinny voice pleaded for their attention. Both Trina and 10K risked a look back at the computer. Citizen Z was shouting something about a Dr. Kurian and holding up a handwritten sign. It read: KILL THE DOCTOR!

Trina's mind leapt to the conclusion that Dr. Merch was never in this facility. The signals Citizen Z picked up which brought them all here were a ruse, set up by Dr. Kurtz or Kurian, or whatever his name was. They'd walked right into his trap, and Murphy was the prey.

There was no time to think anything through, only act. Before anyone else realized what she was doing, Trina reached for the metal casket in front of her, flipped the latch on the side, and grabbed the two handles at the top. The lid split open, both halves falling to the sides, and the thing housed inside leapt out with an inhuman screech. Trina couldn't tell if it was alive or zee, but thankfully, the creature decided to attack the soldiers instead of her friends.

Chaos erupted, screams and blood and bullets flew. The soldiers were eviscerated before Kurian managed to gun the creature down. The team ducked behind whatever cover they could find. Murphy grabbed Trina's wrist and ran for the exit.

"Murphy!" Warren's shout made the couple hesitate at the door. Then Kurian fired several shots and them, bullets peppering the wall far too close for comfort. They kept running, racing through the corridors until they backtracked all the way back to decontamination. Murphy slammed the door shut behind them, heard the automatic lock engage. They were trapped inside the sterile room until they completed the decontamination procedure. But with Kurian about to show up at any moment, it was doubtful they had the time.

"There's gotta be a way out of here." Murphy searched frantically for some kind of emergency exit or override.

Trina leaned against the incinerator chute and tried to catch her breath. Why was that so hard all of a sudden? Why was she so dizzy? Her shirt was wet. Fingers came away red. Did a soldier's blood splash on her? But no, there was more pouring out. She tried to hold it in, but it slipped through her fingers like water.

"Alvin..."

Murphy spun, his face changed from dismay to abject horror. "No. No, _no, no!_ " He rushed over to catch her as her legs gave out. "Oh, god, baby. Please, no!"

Her eyelids fluttered as she gazed up at his tearful face. _It's not fair,_ she thought in despair. She wanted to be brave for him, to tell him everything was going to be alright, to say that she loved him. But the blackness was creeping into her vision and the only words that her mouth formed were, "I don't...wanna die..."

Her eyes rolled back and she went limp in Murphy's arms. He sobbed, pressed his fingers to the side of her neck. Trina still had a pulse, but it was weak and thready. Soon to be gone. She was going to die, and then she would turn. Murphy couldn't bear the thought of her becoming a zombie. If that happened, he knew he wouldn't have the strength to give her mercy. He would cling to her, a sick parody of the love they shared. Trina deserved better. If he couldn't save her, he could at least ensure she died as human beings were meant to.

Weeping, he gently lowered her to the floor, then lifted her arm, pushing back the sleeve. He placed a tender kiss to the back of her hand. "I love you."

His teeth sank into the flesh of her forearm.

 _"Murphy!"_ Citizen Z's voice emitted from a p.a. speaker. Murphy looked around until he saw a camera near the ceiling.

"You," he got to his feet, "You set us up, you bastard."

_"I had no idea this was gonna happen, I swear. You have to believe me."_

"No, I don't," Murphy snarled, "I don't have to believe anything anyone says ever again. _Especially_ you!" He jabbed an accusing finger towards the camera lens.

The NSA agent struggled to reason with him, _"You have to listen. If you try to leave without going through decontamination, you're gonna set off the failsafe."_

"Why should I care?" he asked numbly.

_"Dammit, Murphy—"_

"I lost everything!" his scream was raw with grief, "Including myself!"

 _"Murphy,"_ Citizen Z pleaded, _"A tactical nuclear weapon will be launched from NORAD to incinerate the lab. If you leave, you'll kill everyone there, including Warren, Doc, and the others."_

Murphy's shoulders sagged. He did care about the team, even if he was just a mission to them. But even if he didn't give a shit about them, he knew that Trina did. She would've argued and begged and demanded that he not put their lives in jeopardy. He couldn't dishonor her memory by disregarding what she would have wanted.

But then Kurian arrived at the door and all Murphy felt was panic. The locks wouldn't keep the doctor at bay for long. He still had his weapon, had already demonstrated that he was not hesitant to take a shot at Murphy. And as much as he hurt from the loss of Trina, Murphy did not want to die.

He ran to the exit and slapped the button for the automatic door. A red light began to flash and an alarm sounded. The room's sensors knew he was contaminated. Murphy grabbed the edge of the sliding door, ignoring Citizen Z's frantic shouts, and used all of his newfound strength to break the seal. Something cracked and the door slid loosely on its broken rollers. A recorded voice came over the p.a.

_"Failsafe activated. Seven minutes to detonation."_

Murphy took a second to pick up Trina's body before he raced out the door.

 _"Six minutes to detonation,"_ the voice announced when he reached the elevator. He gently placed Trina's body on the floor so he could pull the gate shut. As they headed for the surface, Trina coughed. The sound was so unexpected that Murphy yelped. Wide-eyed, he knelt to check her pulse. He felt the strong, steady beat against his fingertips. He lifted her shirt to see the bleeding had stopped, the wound already starting to heal. Murphy sobbed, this time in relief.

"Thank you," he said to whoever was listening.

The itchiness that plagued him for days suddenly became unbearable. He scratched at his face until his nails tore loose a flap of skin at his hairline. He pinched it between his fingers and pulled. As the dead layers peeled away, there was a raw sort of pain followed by sweet relief. He stared down at the papery mask that had come away from his face. It was like snakeskin, thin and translucent. He let it drop and began tearing at more loose pieces on his face, neck, and hands. Then he shucked off his clothes to get at the rest of his body. The shed pieces fluttered to the floor with a rustle like dry leaves. When the last strip had been removed, Murphy looked down at the strange blue flesh now revealed.

"Jesus," he breathed, "I'm a goddamn smurf."

_"Four minutes to detonation."_

The elevator rumbled to a halt and the roll-up door opened to the bright afternoon. The zees that had been clustered around the building were gone, wandered off after Doyle was mercied and his unconscious signals that drew them ceased.

Murphy didn't waste any precious seconds getting dressed again. He gathered the unconscious Trina in his arms and ran to the parked Mesa Pharmaceuticals van. He put Trina in the passenger seat, fastened her seat belt, then hurried to the driver's side.

_"Three minutes to detonation."_

Thank god Warren left the keys! Murphy started the engine and peeled off down the road, away from Fort Collins, the lab, and its impending destruction. He risked a glance skyward, saw the approaching missile arc towards its target. But then he saw another, and another. Maybe a dozen nukes all headed in different directions, their contrails crisscrossing the sky.

_What the fuck?_

It had to be some kind of automatic doomsday response set off by the initial launch. All those computers programmed by paranoid military powers still running long after the countries they were meant to wage war for had been wiped out by the plague. Who knew how many more people would die from this new catastrophe.

Murphy's hands tightened their grip on the wheel. "God, I hate the apocalypse."

END PART 1


End file.
